


beauty in the breakdown

by dettiot



Series: beauty in the breakdown [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 104,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>so let go jump in/oh well whatcha waiting for it’s alright/’cause there’s beauty in the breakdown.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by those screencaps. [You know the ones.](http://dettiot.tumblr.com/post/126030221392/jbuffyangel-cherrychapssstick-emily-bett) Title from _Let Go_ by Frou Frou.

When he walked into the lobby of the Starling Grand Hotel, Oliver wondered, yet again, why he was doing this. He was Oliver Queen, a man who had never had any problems finding a beautiful woman with whom to spend the evening with. Why was he coming to this hotel to pay some strange woman for her . . . services?

It had all been Tommy’s idea. Last week during their weekly lunch, he had looked at Oliver and said, “Bro, you need to let go.” 

He had frowned and taken a sip from his bottle of water. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re so caught up in doing everything right, everything by the book, you’re ready to snap. It’s too much pressure. You’re living in a powder keg and giving off sparks.” 

“Isn’t that from _Total Eclipse of the Heart_?” Oliver had asked, grinning a little.

Tommy had grimaced. “That’s not important. You need to release that tension, find a way to relax.” 

“I’m seeing Helena tonight--”

“No, not just sex. You’re way past the point where a romp in the sheets will be enough.” Tommy had looked around and leaned in across Oliver’s desk. “Look, I know this woman--super discreet, very talented.” 

“I’m not paying for sex, Tommy,” Oliver had said, his voice firm. 

His best friend had shaken his head. “This is so much more than sex. This is what you need. Look, just consider it,” he had urged, taking a business card out of his wallet and sliding it across the desk to Oliver. 

The only reason he had taken the card was because he trusted Tommy and wanted to respect his friend’s concerns. He had glanced at the card, noting the thick, dark purple cardstock, and the single word, printed in light purple block capitals with a phone number underneath. 

FELICITY

It was undoubtedly the classiest calling card he had ever seen, considering it was for a prostitute. 

Oliver hadn’t planned to call the number. But after his date with Helena, he had been trying to sleep next to her in his bed, but he just couldn’t. As soon as he had laid back, his mind began churning over the Applied Sciences Division and his mother’s concerns about Thea and the demands from various charities and a dozen other concerns. And his ever-present headache returned with a vengeance, and his jaw tightened, and it felt like the walls of the room were closing in on him. 

And so, he had found himself in his study, holding the card he had pulled from his wallet, and staring at the word. Felicity. Happiness. Was that what this woman promised to her clients? Was that what he could find with her? 

Without conscious thought, he had picked up his phone and dialed the number. 

“This is Felicity.” 

The woman’s voice was low and soft. Gentle. Not at all what he had expected. 

Oliver had cleared his throat. “Hello. Um, my friend gave me your card.” 

“And who is your friend?” A hint of amusement had come through, but not like she was laughing at him. More like she was including him in a joke. 

“Tommy Merlyn.” 

“So you must be Oliver.” 

Her response had taken him aback. “What? How do you know my name?” 

“Because your friend cares very much about you, and he asked me if he thought my services would be helpful to you,” Felicity had said calmly. “When Tommy explained what you’re facing, all I could think was that I wanted to help you. To make you feel better. So I told him to give you my card.” 

He had squeezed his eyes shut, his muscles tensing at her words. At the promise she had represented. Because . . . what if she could help him? 

“What--what do I need to do?” he had gritted out, taking a leap of faith. 

“I have a suite at the Starling Grand. And I am free . . . Wednesday night. I would very much like to see you, Oliver.” For some reason, he had thought she was smiling as she spoke. Something that he had suddenly wanted to see. He had wanted to know what this woman looked like. 

Clearing his throat, he had paused to look at his calendar. “I have a charity event that evening. I wouldn’t be available until around eleven.” 

“That’s perfect, Oliver. I’m looking forward to meeting you,” she had said. “I’ll text you with a few details, and if you have any questions, just text me back.”

“Fine,” he had replied, wondering how many times he would change his mind between now and Wednesday.

“And Oliver?” She had paused, like she was choosing her words carefully. “I have a question I want you to think about until Wednesday.” 

He had huffed out a hard laugh. “What, like homework?” 

Her answering laugh was soft, like bells. “Yes, you could call it that. I want you to ask yourself this: if you could lay down all your responsibilities, put aside your burdens, what kind of man do you think you would be?”

Oliver had frozen. Because her question was so evocative, so precise, that he hadn’t been able to not imagine an answer. Imagine being a man who didn’t feel weighed down, who didn’t feel like all his choices had already been made down to the color of the suit he had to wear each morning. What sort of man would that Oliver Queen be?

“Think about it, Oliver. See you on Wednesday.”

And with that, Felicity had hung up. 

Ever since that phone call, he had been debating what he was doing. On more than one occasion, he had picked up his phone, ready to cancel, but then that damn question of hers would appear in his mind and he would put down his phone. 

Now it was Wednesday night and he was in the elevator to one of the upper floors of the hotel, still dressed in his tuxedo from tonight’s charity event. And the butterflies in his stomach reminded him of being a teenager, of the night when he had lost his virginity. Or the night when his father had given him an ultimatum: start working at the family company or be cut off. He had joined Queen Consolidated, stepping into the role his parents had wanted him to take, and he had never looked back. 

Until now. Until Felicity had asked him who he would be if he could let go. 

The elevator doors opened quietly and Oliver took a deep breath and stepped out. His shoes made no noise against the thick carpeting. The suite Felicity was using was at the end of the hall, and with each step he felt more and more nervous. 

When he reached the door, he lifted his hand and knocked twice. There was a quiet rustle, and then the door pulled open, revealing a delicate-looking, petite woman. Wrapped in a long black silk robe, her blonde hair hung around her shoulders in soft waves. Her lips were painted a deep, rich pink, and her eyes were as blue as crystal. 

Oliver’s mouth went dry. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to find his voice. 

And then she smiled, and all thoughts of speech fled his mind. 

“Good evening, Oliver. I’m Felicity. Please, come in.” She stepped back, allowing him to come into the suite. 

It wasn’t as lavish as he would have expected--he thought she had made changes to the suite’s usual decor, to make it less like a hotel room and more like a home. There were pillows and candles, potted plants and even clutter. Messy piles of magazines and an empty bowl on the coffee table, two pairs of shoes on the floor by the table . . . he should feel like he was intruding, but instead he felt welcomed.

“May I offer you a drink?” Felicity had moved over to a small cart, equipped with clear bottles filled with clear and brown liquids. 

“Scotch, neat, if you have it.” 

Her smile was soft and relaxed. “Scotch? Not what I would have picked for you.” 

“It’s what my father drank. What did you think I would like?” he asked, curious about what she thought of him. With Tommy talking to her about him, Oliver felt somewhat uneasy at what her opinion of him was. 

“It’s such a manly drink. Given that you’re Tommy’s best friend, I was expecting something like tequila.” She shrugged one shoulder and walked over to him, holding two cut-glass tumblers in her hands. She held the one without ice out to him. “I usually can guess what a man will drink. You surprised me.” 

He took the glass from her, his fingers brushing against hers and sending a tingle down his arm. “Why do you try to guess?” 

“It’s part of what I do,” she said simply. “I read someone to anticipate their needs. Big and small. And then I know how to give them what they need. Whether it’s emotional support, sexual release, physical exertion . . . I give people the comfort they need.”

“Physical exertion?” he asked, tilting his head to the side as he ran his eyes over her. She looked slender yet curvy, from what he could tell. But she was so tiny, barely coming up to his shoulder even in her heels. 

Her smile was slow, easy, and seductive. “You might find out.” She lifted her glass, taking a sip as she gazed at him over the rim. 

_Holy shit_. His body stiffened, but not from stress or anxiety. As come-ons went, it wasn’t that original. But it was all in her attitude. The confidence . . . it was intoxicating. 

Oliver took a long swallow of his Scotch. “I guess we’ll see.” 

Felicity nodded and gestured behind him. “Would you like to take a seat? And feel free to get comfortable.” 

“Thank you,” he said, moving towards one end of the sofa. He wasn’t sure what she meant by comfortable, but he was damned if he was going to keep this bow tie fastened tightly against his throat any longer than he had to. He tugged on the silk and let the ends dangle against his chest, before undoing his collar button and taking a deep breath. 

“Why don’t you take off your jacket, too?” Felicity suggested, kicking off her heels and sitting on the cushion next to him, one side of her body leaning against the back of the couch and her legs tucked underneath her. 

It was a good suggestion. It would certainly make him feel less tense. So Oliver set down his glass and leaned forward, pulling his arms from the sleeves of his jacket. He tossed it over the back of the sofa and then leaned into the cushions, sinking down against the dark, velvety fabric. 

“Not leather,” he remarked idly. “I’d expect it to be leather.” 

“Nope,” Felicity said, taking a sip of her drink. “Bare skin sticks to leather. And if sweat’s involved, too, there’s funny noises.” 

His head whipped around to look at her, finding her cheeks had gone a pale shade of pink. But she just shook her head, smiling ruefully. “Wow. I haven’t let myself slip like that in years.” 

He turned to face her. “Slip?” he asked, stretching his arm out along the back of the couch. Feeling like he had been given the smallest of glimpses into who this woman was--and being incredibly intrigued by that glimpse.

“I used to have the worst problem with babbling,” she said, still smiling. “Partly because I got nervous very easily and partly because my mind worked so fast, I would just say whatever I was thinking. I had no brain-to-mouth filter.” 

Imagining this calm, confident woman as one to fall all over her words was hard to believe. Yet . . . it felt like he had been given a puzzle piece. He had no idea what picture the pieces formed, and he sensed that she was a puzzle made up of many, many pieces. But he had more than he did when he had called her last week.

That question of hers rattled around in his head, and he wondered when he was expected to answer her. Since he hadn’t come up with anything--at least, not anything he thought was possible and practical--Oliver wasn’t ready to bring up the subject. So he let himself focus on Felicity. On just talking to her. 

“But you learned to control it?” 

She tilted her head to the side, her hair swishing around her shoulders. “Yes, for the most part. It was holding me back. And making it harder to help people. So I learned to count to three before I began speaking.” 

“And now you’re . . . Felicity,” he said slowly. 

“I’ve always been Felicity,” she countered, smiling a little. “In my line of work, like anything else, it’s all about branding. A dominatrix whose name is Felicity? That’s different. Plus, it’s rare for anyone to ignore the play on words.” 

Wait . . . dominatrix? 

“I thought you were just a--” Oliver stopped when he wasn’t sure what term to use. Hooker? Call girl? Escort? Prostitute?

Felicity lowered her glass and looked at him. “Oliver. Do you really think I’d charge the fee I do if I was only providing sex? You’d be getting ripped off. Not that there’s anything wrong with prostitution. But I grew up in Vegas and I heard all the horror stories. Prostitution should be legalized, so that women can be protected and receive benefits at least. So no, I’m not ‘just’ a prostitute, although I do have clients that only want sex.” 

“But . . . you tie men up and all that?” 

It wasn’t that he was against domination himself. Hell, Helena liked to rake her nails down his back and beg him for release. But . . . Felicity was just so elegant and small. She was classy. What was a woman like her doing in a job like this? How had she stayed safe? How did she seem so . . . clean? There was something about her that shone like the sun, even though she had to have seen the darkest of natures. How had she stayed so bright? 

“Yes, I do. I’ve been doing this for three years and I’ve become one of the best because I’m very good at this.” She gave him a smile, like she knew where his mind had gone. “I’m stronger than I look. And, not to make you feel self-conscious, I have a very dedicated bodyguard watching the surveillance cameras right now.” She gestured towards a round mirror on the wall across from them. “Wave and say hello to John.” 

Strangely, the thought of cameras filming him now--and filming whatever happened here tonight--didn’t freak him out. He only felt relieved that she had protection. 

So he lifted his hand and gave a small wave to the mirror. “Hi, John.” 

Felicity laughed--that same bell-like laugh he had heard last week over the phone. Only this time, it was clearer and richer and even better in person. “You’re the first man who’s ever actually said hello to John. He’ll be thrilled.” 

“I can’t believe Tommy sent me to a dominatrix.” Oliver leaned forward and let his head drop, his arms stretched out and resting on top of his knees. “I know he’s been worried about me, but . . .” 

“You’re lucky to have him in your life,” Felicity said softly. “Not many men would be willing to pay for a session with me, only to talk about their best friend.” 

“Tommy did that?” He lifted his head and looked at her over his shoulder. 

She nodded. “He said he didn’t want to talk about this over the phone, so my only choice, for my protection and his, was to charge him for a session. If you’ve paid, we both know it’s about trust and respect. Freebies blur the lines.” 

Nodding a little, Oliver reached out and picked up his Scotch, taking a sip. “So . . . Tommy came to you and talked about me.” 

“Mmm, yes,” Felicity said, drinking a little of her own Scotch. “He said he was worried about you. About the stress in your life, about the responsibilities you carried. That you were desperate for control, when in reality, you need to lose that control. You need to let yourself break, in a controlled way, so you don’t completely shatter when you do break down. Because that is in your future, Oliver, if you don’t figure out how to relieve the tension.” 

Frowning, he threw back the last of his Scotch and rose to his feet, going to the bar cart and pouring himself another. “I’m fine.” 

“I’ve only known you for a half hour, Oliver, and I can see you’re not fine. What do you think your friends and family are thinking?” 

“They need me to keep everything together!” he snapped, turning to face her. 

“They need you to be happy and healthy,” Felicity corrected. She lightly patted the sofa cushion he had been sitting on. “Come sit back down.” 

For a moment, he considered resisting. Staying right where he was. Or even better, just . . . leaving. Let her have the money, the very hefty fee she had charged--he had plenty of money. He didn’t need this, didn’t need her. 

But even as he thought that, he knew he was lying to himself. Because her words had touched a chord within him. The idea that he could find a way to let go, safely, carefully, in a way that wouldn’t hurt anyone . . . that damn question of what kind of man he would be without all the pressure . . . 

“Did Tommy tell you how it all started?”

Felicity’s eyes, so soft and blue, were full of sympathy. “Yes. There was an accident, and the woman you were dating was killed. Which was the last straw for your parents, so they gave you an ultimatum: clean up your act and work at the family company or be completely disinherited.” She shook her head. “That was the wrong thing to do.” 

“You’re the only one to think so. Everyone applauded my parents for ‘taking a stand’ and ‘making me see reason’.” 

“They treated the symptoms, not the cause.” 

Oliver looked at her, his hand gripping his tumbler tightly. Felicity patted the cushion again. “Come sit down before I drop some more truth bombs on you,” she cajoled, her voice light and gentle and softly teasing. 

His feet moved against the carpet, bringing him back to the couch. He sank down heavily into his seat, trying to understand why he seemed to do whatever she asked. 

Her long, pale fingers brushed down his arm, making Oliver’s body feel so much lighter--and warmer. “Your father was a good man, and your mother is a good woman,” she said, her fingers rubbing up and down over his bicep and shoulder. “I read up on you, on your family. So I know how important they both are to this city.”

The sudden, unexpected death of Robert Queen, only four months after his ultimatum to Oliver, had completely changed his life, even more than agreeing to accept his parents’ demand. Because before, he had only been learning the ropes, and suddenly he had to perform on the high wire, with no net. And failure was not an option. Plus there was the need to be the protector of his mother and his sister--a task he could never shirk from, but one that added to the already-substantial load on his shoulders. It had been five years since his father’s death, and Oliver still wished he was here, running Queen Consolidated and allowing him the freedom to explore his interests within the company. He wasn’t half the CEO his father was, yet he had to do it.

“Your parents were worried and scared and they just wanted you to be safe. They didn’t stop to ask themselves why you acted the way you did--they only wanted you to stop putting yourself at risk. And they found a way to do that, but it’s backfired. Because you are not safe, Oliver. You are so far from safe, and I just want to help you find a way to let it all go for a little while. To give you room to breathe and figure out what makes you feel safe and happy and good.” 

Her hand felt so good against his arm. Her touch was soothing, thorough, warming. With each stroke, he felt a little bit better. And he didn’t understand why--she was just touching his arm. 

No, she was massaging his arm. Like there was a cramp in his bicep that she was loosening. A cramp he didn’t even realized he had. Or maybe it was her words as much as her touch. 

“Mmmm, that’s better,” she said softly, smiling at him. “You’re all hard, but now you’re becoming ‘really nice muscles’ hard, not ‘stressed to the point of exploding’ hard. 

Oliver let out a quiet bark of laughter. “Another slip?” 

“No. Because everyone likes compliments. And I’ve been wondering what these arm muscles of yours would feel like ever since you walked in the door.” 

Open flirtation was something he was used to. Something he was actually good at. But this felt like much more than flirting. 

“Is that why you told me to take off my jacket?” he asked, feeling pleased he had managed to match her tone. 

“Uh-oh, you caught me. I’m a sex worker who likes men. Especially hot men. I am just a contradiction in terms,” Felicity teased, her eyes sparkling. 

God, she was beautiful. If he had seen her out in the streets of Starling City, he didn’t know if he would have noticed her. No--no, he would have noticed her. Maybe only for a split-second, but he would have seen her. 

“So . . . you do this because you like sex?” 

“I do this because I like to help people,” Felicity corrected. “Sex is just one of my tools. Sex can’t cure you--but I can. I’m the real weapon against your problems.” 

Swallowing, Oliver looked into Felicity’s eyes. That confidence . . . it seemed unshakable. Like she really believed that she could help him--that she could heal him. 

He wanted to be whole. To set down his load for a little while, so he could pick it back up again without dropping it. 

“What--what are you going to do?” His voice was low, quiet . . . and a little raspy. He almost missed the way her eyes flared, like she felt something at his tone. Something sensual. 

But he didn’t miss it. 

“ _We_ are going to relax you, Mr. Queen,” Felicity said, lifting herself up onto her knees and putting both her hands on his shoulders. She turned him so he was leaning back against the arm of the sofa, and then her hands gently smoothed over his shoulders. Her fingers trailed over the ends of his bow tie, lazily dropping to his chest. And then her hands began smoothing over his torso in long, firm strokes, and it was all Oliver could do not to moan. 

It wasn’t the first time he had gotten a massage. He usually got a rubdown at the gym every few weeks, to keep him limber. But this felt very different. He had no idea that he carried so much of his tension in his chest. As Felicity’s hands moved over his pecs and shoulders, he felt strange. It was so good, yet also uncomfortable. Like moving your foot when it was numb and getting those pin and needle sensations. 

When her hands slipped down to his abs, her movements became more exploratory, lighter, almost teasing. She casually straddled his knee, leaning in towards him and letting her face hover over his. “Oliver?” 

“Mmmm?” he asked, his eyes heavy-lidded as he looked up at her. Watching as her eyes roamed over his face and definitely lingered on his lips. 

“Do you remember what I told you last week? About the rules?” 

Giving his head a small shake, Oliver did his best to pull himself back into focus. “Um . . . I don’t remember . . . ?” 

Felicity’s smile was soft and warm. “That’s all right. There’s only two rules: consent and a safe word. As long as you’re okay with this, I’m okay. And if you--or I--stop feeling okay, we’ll have a word to serve as a stop sign. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, taking in a breath. Inhaling a sweet citrusy perfume that must be coming from Felicity. 

Her fingers drifted lazily up his abs, back to his pecs. “So what’s your safe word, Oliver? Something you wouldn’t normally say. I always suggest food if you’re stumped.” 

“Oh . . . um . . . orange?” 

“Perfect,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Like the knock-knock joke. Aren’t you glad I didn’t say orange?” 

A laugh bubbled out of him and Felicity’s hands dropped back to his abs. “Mmm. Nice,” she commented, looking at him through her lashes. “Now that we’ve got the important stuff taken care of, we can play. Because you can do whatever you want with me, to me--and I have the same choice. So don’t hold back, Oliver, if you like.” 

He licked his lips. “Anything?” 

“Anything. If I do something you don’t like, say ‘orange’ and I’ll stop. If you go too far, I’ll tell you. And if you don’t listen to me, John will make you.” Her fingers spread wide across his abs, helping her balance over him. “But I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I think you know how to treat a woman, and I want to show you how a man should be treated.” 

She moved close enough to him that her breath washed over his lips. His eyes were riveted to her mouth, taking in how precisely the color was applied to her very sexy mouth. The whole time they had been together so far, she had been talking and smiling. He had been watching her lips move and wondering what they felt like. 

So he reached out for her, his hands landing on her hips. She took the tiniest of breaths and Oliver wished the robe wasn’t in the way. He wanted to touch her bare skin. But she must be wearing the robe for a reason, and right now, he had something else he wanted to do besides wonder what Felicity was wearing under her robe. 

Like pressing his lips against hers. 

Her lips were so soft. Just like the rest of her--he could feel something under her robe, something firm and inflexible, but the moment their lips met, she melted against his body, covering him in a blanket of warmth. 

Oliver closed his eyes, concentrating on just how good this felt. It was a slow, unhurried kiss, just lips moving against each other, but he felt sparks move through his whole body. Felicity’s hands moved over his arms, up to his shoulders, and then slid into his hair. Her nails scratched lightly against his scalp and he sighed against her lips. 

She let out a small pleased noise and gave his lower lip a soft suck, making his eyes pop open. Her eyes were open, looking at him. She smiled at him when he looked at her. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he breathed out. 

“Okay?” she asked, brushing her nose against his. 

He nodded quickly. “More. Please.” 

“Yes,” she said with a smile, leaning back in and kissing him. This time, there was a bit more pressure, a kind of affectionate teasing. She sucked on his lower lip again, harder, and Oliver opened his mouth and let his tongue brush against her lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed a woman like this. Taking his time, not thinking ahead to what came next. All that mattered was his lips and Felicity’s. 

When his tongue made contact, her lips parted and let him in. And he had to close his eyes as he felt overwhelmed by her taste. Sweet but also spicy, and so warm and wet. Her tongue lightly stroked against his and her hands played with his hair, making him feel like his bones were dissolving, like his muscles were finally loosening. 

The kiss slowed into a series of soft little pecks. Felicity shifted against him and his hands gripped her hips reflexively, looking back up at her. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Oliver,” she whispered. “Okay?” 

“Yeah,” he said, letting his thumbs rub against her sides in slow circles. 

Her eyes fluttered, her face going soft for a moment, before she smiled at him. “Can I unbutton your shirt?” 

“Yes,” he replied quickly, feeling his heart pick up. 

“Yay,” she said cheerfully, her smile bright. Her nimble little fingers unbuttoned the top two buttons, and then she pushed the fabric aside to lean in and kiss the side of his neck. Automatically, he tilted his head back, giving her more room. There was a soft hum against his skin as she murmured her approval. 

Her lips kept pressing kisses against his neck as she unbuttoned his shirt. After the last button had been undone, she sucked lightly on his skin, making him half-sigh, half-groan. Then she detached her lips and sat up, straddling his thigh. “Let me take a look at you,” she said, spreading the sides of his shirt wide and letting her eyes trail over him. 

For the last three years, the only outlet he had allowed himself was his daily workouts. Even in the midst of his busiest days, knowing he had forty-five minutes to work on his body had been something to get him through the hard times. He couldn’t deny that there might be a touch of masochism to the pursuit--that he pushed himself too hard too often. 

But as Felicity’s eyes roamed over him, Oliver was grateful for every painful minute. Because her eyes, her face, gave him all the validation he had ever wanted. 

“Wow,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on his abs. Her finger lightly traced the lines of his six-pack and Oliver bit his lip so he wouldn’t flinch. Or moan.

“Don’t hold back,” she murmured, her eyes flicking up to his. “Do you need to say the safe word?” 

Oliver shook his head quickly and let go of his lip, his breath escaping him in a whoosh. She smiled and kissed his neck again. “Now, I’m going to show some appreciation to your very nice body. If you need a breather, just tell me. It’s okay to stop, for as long as you need it.” 

“Don’t stop,” he rasped out. 

“Then I won’t,” she said, lowering her lips to a spot just above his collarbone. “Not until you tell me to.” 

And with that, Felicity began lavishing his chest with kisses and licks, with firm pressure and lazy touches. Her tongue swirled around each of his nipples, she dragged her lips over his skin, she took a deep breath and sighed. “You smell so good.” 

“So . . . so do you,” he replied after a moment to collect his wits. “How come your lipstick isn’t all over me?” 

She looked up at him, the bright pink color still perfectly applied to her lips. “Trade secret. Most men don’t want to leave me all covered in my lipstick.” 

“Oh,” he said, feeling a strange, fleeting flash of disappointment. 

“Later,” she promised, kissing a spot halfway down his torso. “Later, I can put something on that will leave a mark, if you want.” She smiled at him. “You keep surprising me, Oliver.” 

“That’s my line,” he couldn’t help saying, feeling his lips tug up in a smile. 

For a moment, her smile grew so wide and bright he felt blinded. Then she lowered her head and started kissing his abs. And if he thought she had taken her time on his pecs, it was nothing compared to the time she spent on his six pack. 

And for every minute she spent licking and sucking, scraping her teeth over his skin and kissing away any hurt, Oliver felt his cock grow that much harder in his pants. 

It had started hardening the moment she had opened the door, and by now, after all the talking and smiles and touches and kisses, he was having to exert all his control not to thrust up against Felicity, as her silk-covered body kept hovering and brushing against his groin. 

But then he realized that he could, if he wanted to. That she didn’t want him to hold back. So Oliver slowly, experimentally, rolled his hips and then let out a groan when there was a whisper of friction against his crotch, his body making only glancing contact with Felicity’s. 

Felicity looked up at him and laughed softly. “Finally. Ready for more?” 

He held her eyes and nodded slowly, letting his gaze drop to her lips. “Yes.” 

Her confidence must be rubbing off on him, he thought in a daze as she slowly pushed herself up, her hands giving his abs a few last caresses. 

“Then let me get more comfortable,” she said, climbing off his lap standing up, her hands on the sash of her robe. “If you don’t mind, Oliver.” 

And just like that, the confidence evaporated and he was nodding like a teenage boy about to see a girl take off her bra. 

Slowly, her hands untied the sash. Her hands went to the collar of her robe as she looked at him, keeping him from looking away. Then she slowly pulled the silk apart and let it drop to the floor, revealing perfection. 

The black leather corset and fishnets was exactly what he thought a dominatrix would wear. But that didn’t make the image Felicity was presenting trite or uninteresting. Oh, no. His cock was so interested, he felt it jump and he let out a soft moan. 

“There’s something to be said for the classics,” Felicity said, tilting her head and smiling at him. She ran her hands down her sides. “Normally I keep my heels on, for the full effect, but I think we’re good.” 

“Yes--very good--Felicity,” he choked out. 

“Unbuckle your belt,” she said softly, resting her hands on her hips and rolling her shoulders back, making her breasts swell slightly over the top of the corset. 

With trembling hands, Oliver undid his belt. He paused, wondering if he should wait for Felicity, but she had turned away from him. She was bending over to reach into a small box on the table, her ass so perfectly on display and so amazing that he just-- 

Reaching down, he rubbed the heel of his hand hard against his fabric-covered cock and groaned. 

“You are so ready,” Felicity said, kneeling down between his legs. “Aren’t you, Oliver?” 

Her voice was so lilting and seductive, he could only look at her. She started untying his shoes and nodded to him. “Go ahead,” she directed him in a soft voice. “Unbutton and unzip your pants.” 

So close to having something better than his hand, Oliver trembled as he followed her directions. By the time he had gotten his fingers to open his trousers, Felicity had drawn off his shoes. Then she went up on her knees and reached for his waistband, above his hips, and gently pulled his pants and boxer briefs off. 

When the cool air hit his cock, it became impossibly harder. Or maybe it was because Felicity’s eyes were on him, studying him, watching as one small drop of precum leaked out from his tip. 

God, what was she thinking? Her face had gone blank and her eyes were shuttered, but he thought she was breathing heavier. 

And then she used the back of her finger to catch the bead of precum before it dripped on the floor, and she popped her finger into her mouth and tasted him. “Mmmmm,” she said throatily around her finger, and Oliver’s mind flashed to her making that noise again, only with something much larger than her finger in her mouth. 

“That’s almost enough to make me forgo the condom,” she said, looking at him with eyes that were nearly gray now, they were so dark. “I can do that, if you like. For oral, I’m willing. Since you followed my instructions and sent me your medical history and I know you’re clean.” 

“Really?” he panted. 

“Really,” she said, her hands dropping to rest lightly on his knees.

He had always been so fanatical about preventing STDs and pregnancies, Oliver had never had intercourse, not even a blow job, without a condom. And it was so tempting. With how amazing Felicity’s mouth felt when he kissed her, the thought of feeling that against his bare flesh . . . but it would put her at risk . . . 

“Oliver.” 

Felicity’s voice was firm. “Do you want me to put a condom on you?” 

“No,” he gasped, feeling a tremor go through his body at the direct question, at the answer he had just let come out, at ceding his responsibility to her. “I want you to do whatever you want to me.” 

“What’s the safe word?” she asked gently. 

“Orange,” he said, the word escaping with a hiss. “Felicity--” 

Her hands rubbed soothingly against his knees, then traced up the inside of his thighs, making him spread his legs wider. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.” 

A groan slipped out from him at the promise in her words. At the idea of someone taking care of him.

“Shhhhh, I’ve got you,” she whispered, her eyes warm and fixed on him. “Do what feels good, Oliver.” 

And then she pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, before taking him into her mouth. 

Another, louder groan broke from his lips as he closed his eyes and clutched the sofa cushions. Because the soft, wet heat of her mouth was even better than he had imagined it would be, without any barrier between them. His hips rolled up, his cock going deeper, and he grimaced at the pleasure coursing through him already. 

Felicity pulled back a little, her hands rubbing the inside of his thighs and then the crease where his legs met his torso. Her tongue rubbed against the underside of his shaft, pressing against a vein that made his vision white out for a moment. Then she drew her lips down his length, until only his tip was between her lips, and she sucked. Hard. 

“Oh fuck,” he yelped, jerking against her. 

Her lips lightened their pressure, then she let him drop from her mouth. “You’re so beautiful,” she said softly, her hands moving a little higher and stroking the v-lines that led to his pelvis. “You’re doing so well.” 

Oliver slowly unwrapped one of his hands from around the cushion and lifted it up. He slid his fingers through her blonde strands, the softness catching a little against his callouses. When his hand settled in place on the back of her head, he looked at her and saw that there was no need for him to even ask for permission. If he wanted to fist his hand in her hair, she wanted that. He didn’t have to take care of her or worry about going too far, because she would give him whatever he wanted. And yet that made him want to take care of her anyway--but it didn’t feel like a responsibility, like everything else in his life. 

It felt like a gift. Like a pleasure. 

“Keep going,” he said, hearing the smallest tremor in his voice even as he tried to sound firm and direct. 

“Yes, thank you,” Felicity replied, without a trace of sarcasm or reluctance in her voice. She immediately wrapped her lips around him again and let him move her head up and down along his shaft. Her hands went to his balls, cupping them gently, and Oliver breathed out slowly. Feeling like he was taking the first real deep breath of his life. 

Her perfect little fingers rolled his balls and then held him in the palm of one hand. Her other hand slipped behind his balls, stroking slowly against the muscles there, and Oliver felt himself tense up. And then Felicity hummed around him and he arched into her mouth. 

She let out a little moan and then started humming and kept going, squeezing his balls and rubbing, and it was so much sensation that he couldn’t handle it. His mind went blank and he could only look for something--he didn’t know what--inside her mouth. His movements grew faster, jerkier, his hand gripping the back of her head tightly. His balls tightened, drawing closer and closer to his body, and the pressure in his spine coiled tighter and tighter, until there was nowhere for it to go. 

And he came, and came hard, his cum shooting into her mouth, in waves and waves of pleasure that left him screaming and babbling, watching as the white liquid began to drip out the corners of Felicity’s mouth, and it was so incredibly erotic and beautiful and peaceful, in the middle of the most intense and exhausting climax of his life, that Oliver felt his eyes roll back in his head and he slumped back against the couch, passing out.

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m enjoying plunging into this story, which is just growing and growing like a mushroom in the dark. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Betaed only by myself, so please forgive any errors.

The first thing he was aware of was soft hands running through his hair and over his face. And how soothing that felt. 

How good. 

Blinking his eyes open, Oliver looked up into Felicity’s face. She was sitting with his back against her chest, his head on her shoulder and her arms loosely wrapped around him. As soon as he made eye contact with him, she smiled. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty. I tried kissing you awake, but you were out like a light.” 

“Oh,” he said, his brain still feeling slow and sluggish. “What happened?” he asked as he slowly pulled himself up and out of Felicity’s arms. 

She smiled softly at him as he faced her, leaning against the sofa. She was wearing her robe again, her hair disheveled but her lipstick still perfect. “You took a nap after you came.”

Oliver nodded slowly, his eyes looking off into the distance over Felicity’s shoulder, as everything started to come back to him. The conversation, full of truth and compliments. The touches and kisses. The epic oral sex. He had never come so hard, so fully, so freely. 

And it was all thanks to Felicity. 

When he met her gaze, she was still smiling. “All right? Would you like another drink? Or perhaps some water?”

“Some water, please,” he said, shifting on the couch and reaching to button up his shirt and then pull on his pants.

“Don’t cover up on my account,” Felicity teased as she got up, heading over to a counter and bending behind it. 

He watched her move, noting how free and easy her body was. “Then why are you wearing your robe?” 

“Because I’m not a furnace like you,” Felicity called out, laughing. “You are so warm. I get chilly.” 

“I don’t know what to say to that,” he replied, feeling a bit dazzled by Felicity. It might be the aftereffect of the orgasm, but . . . but being in this place, with this woman who gave and gave without wanting anything in return, who just wanted to help him--it was new. 

“There’s nothing you have to say,” she said, walking back to him and holding a bottle of water out to him. She curled back up on the sofa, a bit closer to him than she had been before. “Other than maybe thank you, if you feel so inclined.” She smiled and twisted the cap off her bottle of water, taking a slow sip. 

His mouth was dry, so Oliver did the same, quenching his thirst. Which let him wonder what happened now. Felicity wasn’t doing anything to rush him out, which he supposed made sense. As she said, it wasn’t just about sex. And although that blow job had been worth every penny he had paid, the money didn’t really matter. It was the whole experience. Getting to interact with a beautiful, smart woman. Actually talking and getting to know each other, focusing on conversation as its own reward. With most women, he flirted and offered up little bits of himself in order to reach whatever his goal was. Whether it was to close a business deal or get her into his bed, talking was a means to an end. 

At least, that was how it used to be. At some point, it had started to bother him. Started to feel like yet another role he was expected to play. The charming playboy CEO. That was why he had started dating Helena: she was beautiful, moved in the same circles as he did, and knew about his past. Knew about Laurel. 

Helena knew what her place in his life was and didn’t try to be anything more. She would be perfectly content if he proposed--if she became Helena Queen-and she would be the perfect society wife. But he hadn’t asked her and she never asked him about it. They had drifted along for a year and a half like that: she was the woman on his arm at galas and events, they had sex after most of their dates, and otherwise, their lives went on their separate paths.

And in that year and a half, they hadn’t spoken as honestly and openly as he and Felicity had tonight. 

Giving his head a shake, Oliver took another sip of water. That wasn’t fair to Helena. It was always easier to have conversations with strangers. With someone you would never see again. Look at all the movies and books about strangers having intimate, soul-searching experiences together, only to part and never meet again. That was what tonight would be like. 

Oliver startled, nearly dropping his bottle of water, when soft fingertips brushed against his temple. “You are having major deep thoughts,” Felicity commented softly, smoothing her hand over his skin and then sliding her fingers through his hair and rubbing his scalp before drawing away. “Would you like to share?”

“Just thinking about my girlfriend.” He frowned. “I’m sorry--I shouldn’t talk about her here.” 

“Why not?” Felicity asked, propping her head up on one hand, her arm resting on the back of the couch. “You can talk about whatever or whomever you like when you’re here.” 

It was a tempting offer. To ask Felicity about Helena, to get her perspective as an outside observer. But at the same time, it didn’t feel right. And he didn’t know why. So instead, he just smiled and shook his head. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Felicity said, moving her hand to stroke his shoulder. “Our time together is designed for you. To do what you like, without thinking about what waits for you outside that door. Giving you a break.” 

Her eyes were so amazing, Oliver thought. They sucked him in, made him not want to look away from her. And they made him believe whatever she said. Because there was nothing in her eyes that belied what she said. 

“You keep talking about that. That I need a break,” he said, turning to lean in towards her. Thinking about that question she had asked him, about what kind of man he could be.

“I do,” she replied, her fingers still rubbing his shoulder. “Because that’s what I think you need.”

“Because of what Tommy told you.” 

Felicity shook her head. “No, I draw my own conclusions about my clients, in spite of what someone else tells me about them.”

“So how did you come up with stress as my problem?” 

Shrugging a shoulder, she drank the last of her water and put the empty bottle on the table before moving closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and curling her body against his. He hadn’t expected her to invade his physical space like this, but he couldn’t deny it felt good. More than good--amazing. 

He slid his arms around her slender waist, feeling so conscious of the size of his body compared to hers. It was like his arms could wrap twice around her. 

“I told you, I read up on you,” Felicity said, her hands playing with the hair on the back of his neck. “With what Tommy told me, and with you being just a little bit popular with the press in this town, I was able to put together my own idea of who you were. And then you knocked on my door, and just one look told me I was right.” 

“That was all it took?” 

“Remember what I said about being very good at this?” Felicity teased, brushing her nose against his. “That wasn’t just boasting.” 

Huffing out a laugh, he let his head fall forward onto her shoulder. “You are good. Very, very good.” 

She let out an inelegant but adorable snort. “I think we’re talking about different things that I’m good at.” 

This close to her, that sweet citrus scent of hers was intoxicating. It made his body stir, like he was finally ready for another round. Oliver rubbed his face against her silk-covered shoulder. “You’re good at everything.” 

“Pfft,” she said, moving her hands to stroke his neck and back. “Nothing I read about you told me that you were such a flatterer.” 

Giving in to what he wanted, Oliver brushed his lips against her neck. “It’s part of the playboy image. Turning on the charm.” 

“Is that what you’re doing? Playing your part?” 

There was something in her voice, something a bit brittle. Oliver lifted his head and looked at her. “What? What did I do wrong?” He searched her face, trying to figure out what she was thinking and feeling. 

Looking at her like this, he could see a shadow in her eyes. Something that dimmed her light for a moment, but then she blinked and she was Felicity again. “You don’t have to charm me. There’s no need to be any of the Olivers you have to be out there,” she said, gesturing to the door of the suite. Like before, her voice was gentle and warm, but with more determination underneath than before, he thought. “That’s the whole point of our time together.” 

He couldn’t deny that being with Felicity was relaxing. Comforting. Because she looked at him with no expectations. But if he was going to leave soon and never see her again, they should probably talk some more, right? Because he was starting to think that maybe Tommy and Felicity were right. That he had put too much on himself and he needed to learn how to let things go. How to deal with his stress. 

Even if he would much rather see if he could get Felicity out of that corset . . . talking was the smarter course. 

Loosening his arms around Felicity’s waist, he shifted to put some space between them. “I guess we need to talk about my homework?” 

“If you want to. It doesn’t have to be tonight. And it’s not really homework. Homework would be another responsibility. And implies that it’s something you finish and that’s it, you’re all done,” Felicity said, resting her hands on his shoulders. No more of the soft touches, the stroking and rubbing. The absence distracted him from what Felicity was saying and then her words registered.

“Wait--’it doesn’t have to be tonight’?” he asked, staring at her. 

“Of course,” she replied, tilting her head. “I’m in Starling City for several months, so if you like, we could continue this. I’m sorry, I thought you realized that--I had told Tommy that I thought you would need more than just one night.” 

Oliver swallowed, feeling like the world was shifting around him. There could more than one night of this? How could he explain seeing a prostitute--no, not just a prostitute, a dominatrix? One time was easy. Multiple times, a standing session? That was playing with fire, with his position to consider. And he wasn’t that screwed up, was he? He just was a little overwhelmed, under more strain than he could handle--no, no, he could handle it. He could. He had to. People were depending on him--his family, everyone at QC, the charities he worked with and, and, and--

“Breathe, Oliver.” 

Wheezing a little, he blinked and looked at Felicity. His hands were squeezing her shoulders--he must be hurting her--but her voice gave no sign of any discomfort. He hadn’t even realized he had reached out for her, he was so lost in his thoughts. In his worries. In everything he had to carry. 

“Breathe,” she repeated, taking in a breath and then letting it out slowly. “Just like this. In . . . and . . . out.” 

Watching her lips move, feeling her shoulders rise and fall under his hands as she breathed, it gave him something to focus on. She kept breathing deeply and smiling at him, and that gave him enough calm to start mirroring her actions. To start breathing again. 

With oxygen, the panic began to fade, replaced with embarrassment. And not a small amount of shame. He let go of her shoulders and turned away from her. Slumping forward, Oliver hung his head, sucking in air and trying to regain his strength so he could get the hell out of here. 

It had been weeks since he had experienced such a strong attack. And normally he was alone, or could excuse himself easily enough, when he felt the warning signs. But tonight, it had come on so quickly that there had been no time. Or maybe he had just missed the signs. He didn’t know. But it didn’t change that he had lost control and that was too dangerous. What if he had wrapped his hands around Felicity’s throat, instead of just grabbing on to her shoulders? 

The last thing he needed was to let go. Felicity might be very good at this, but there was no way he could keep doing this. Yes, it had been a good night--if it had been a date, it would be the best date he had ever been on. But it wasn’t a date: it was an appointment with a dominatrix, a woman with too-knowing eyes and a body that made his blood run hot. But if he was so screwed up, he would just--he would find a therapist. He could do that. He could find the time, schedule lunch time appointments and keep it quiet, so the press or the business world wouldn’t catch a whiff of what he was doing. 

“Oliver?” 

He jerked a little when Felicity spoke. Her voice was soft and low, full of comfort and support. But he thought he heard something else, too. So even though he should have already gotten up and left, he turned his head slowly to look at her. 

Her teeth were sunk into her lower lip and her eyebrows were drawn together. Like she was nervous. Or worried. When his eyes met hers, she let go of her lower lip and gave him a small, weak smile. “Better? Do you need anything?” 

“No,” he said tiredly. “I . . . I should be going.” 

“You should rest some more,” Felicity said, her voice quiet. “Please stay so I know you’ll be okay.” 

“But I’m not okay. Isn’t that what you were saying?” he asked, the anger appearing so suddenly that the words just tumbled out. “I’m a mess, a fuck-up, and I’m just going to fuck things up more? And you think some sex will make things better?” 

She shook her head. “You’re lashing out, but if there’s anyone who can take it, it’s me.” Felicity reached out and gripped his bicep. “And I can dish it out. Because you’re not really angry, Oliver Queen. You’re scared. So scared. But it’s good that you’re scared. Or angry,” she said, cutting him off. “If that’s what you were about to claim you were. But however you’re feeling, you should embrace it.” 

“Embrace feeling like this? Sure,” Oliver spit out.

“It’s part of being human. Of being alive,” she replied softly, her eyes full of emotion. 

Laughing bitterly, Oliver hung his head and ran his hands through his hair. He couldn’t help wishing right now that he could be some kind of robot. Or a person who didn’t feel everything so much. He had learned a long time ago that he had to keep a tight grip on his emotions or he would get swept up in them, carried away by lust or anger or sadness. But in the last few years, it had gotten harder to stay calm and unaffected by what he felt, just like everything had gotten harder. 

“What are you thinking?” 

Too tired to lie or sugar coat anything, Oliver looked at Felicity. “I want to stop thinking about that question you asked me. It’s too tempting and too impossible. Because right now, I want to be anyone other than who I am.” 

Her smile was a bit hesitant, but also full of understanding. “I know how that feels. Not wanting to be you, but not sure who you want to be.” 

Nodding, he let his eyes roam over her face. His mind felt worn and stretched. He just wanted to stop. To . . . to have a break. 

His hands moved without conscious thought, grasping Felicity’s waist. Her lips parted on a silent gasp, and it sent something through him. Some spark that broke through the numbness. 

Oliver rubbed his thumbs against her, feeling the leather under the silk. The contrast seemed very much like Felicity . . . soft sensuality hiding an inner strength. 

Right now, he only wanted her strength. 

Yanking on the sash, Oliver stripped the robe off her, hesitating before he looked to see her reaction. When his eyes met hers, she licked her lips, her cheeks flushing. 

Groaning, Oliver lifted Felicity easily, her body as light as a feather in his grasp, and settled her in his lap. She straddled his lap and pressed against him, the leather flexing under his hands. “Oliver . . .”

The way she said his name made his cock harden. This was what he needed right now. To lose himself in her again, just for a little while. He knew it wasn’t going to work all the time. But right now, he could give a fuck. 

He ran a hand up her back slowly, taking in the fastenings of her corset before he cupped the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss. It was hard and probing, his desire making him hungry and desperate. 

And Felicity gave as good as she got. Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them and then pushing the fabric away from his body. Her teeth nipped at his lower lip, making him groan and arch up against her. 

God, no woman had ever turned him on so much. He wanted to make her hot. As hot as she made him. 

Keeping up the hungry kisses, holding her in place with one hand, he rubbed his fingers over the swells of her breasts. Her skin was softer than the silk of her robe. He wanted to feel her skin. All of her skin. But the corset would take time to get off, he bet, and he had other ideas in mind. 

His fingers ran down her front, feeling her suck in a breath at his touch. It made him look at her and smirk. “Reconsidering the corset?” 

“Oh, shut up,” she whispered, kissing him hungrily, her fingers gripping his hair. Oliver returned her kiss, tilting her head back and savoring her taste. He wanted to eat her up. 

But before that . . . 

When he slid his hand lower on Felicity’s torso, below the curve of her belly, she tore her mouth away from his and moaned, “Ohhh . . .” Her head fell back, her breasts at his eye level, and Oliver couldn’t resist spending a few moments kissing and licking the creamy swells. His hand kept moving lower, though, feeling trembles go through her legs as his hand slipped between her legs and received a very pleasant surprise. 

The crotch of the corset wasn’t leather. It was mesh. Thin, open mesh, letting him feel the heat and wetness coming from her center. 

“Jesus,” he breathed out. Idly, he wondered how her fishnets worked with the corset, but then he rubbed his hand hard against her and he stopped caring.

Felicity pressed against his hand, biting her lower lip. Reaching out, Oliver tugged her lip free of her teeth. “I want to hear you,” he said, looking at her. “Let me hear you, Felicity.” 

Her eyes, such a dark blue now, met his and she nodded. “Yes . . . touch me . . .” 

For a moment, he considered pushing aside the mesh and burying himself in her. But then he thought about taking his time, building her up until she was writhing and moaning against him, getting her out of control. And his cock twitched and his hand started circling against her, pushing the mesh up into her folds so he could explore her. 

A soft, breathy, sexy-as-hell noise came out of Felicity, some perfect combination of a moan, a sigh, and a gasp, and Oliver looked into her eyes. “I like making women come,” he told her.

“Of--of course you do--you--you make it--about your partner--and not you,” Felicity stuttered out, rocking against his hand. 

“They never complain,” Oliver remarked, smirking at her. 

How she could look annoyed and overcome with pleasure at the same time, Oliver didn’t know. It was just part of what made her Felicity, he thought. This remarkable woman who he wanted to make come as hard as he had climaxed earlier. 

Watching a woman fall apart because of him was one of the few responsibilities he didn’t mind carrying on his shoulders. When he was younger, he was a selfish dick in everything, but especially when it came to sex. He’d gotten jerked off by more anonymous women’s hands and mouths than any man should have. He had never been faithful to any woman he was dating. Not even--

No. He wasn’t going to think about her right now. Not with Felicity moving against his hand and moaning. He had turned over a new leaf after his father died, making sure his partner got as much out of sex as he did. And he was determined to give Felicity as much pleasure as she had given him.

“This--this isn’t what I do normally,” she gritted out, her hands gripping his shoulders. “Enjoy this--while you can--next time it’s all gonna--all you, next time.”

Oliver didn’t say anything. Because he still wasn’t sure there was going to be a next time. Although with the feel of her juices dripping through the mesh and coating his hand, the waves of heat coming off her center, the way she moved and talked and moaned, he couldn’t believe he would be able to walk away from her forever after tonight. 

It wasn’t just the sex. It was everything about her. But this was already so dangerous . . . 

And then he rubbed the mesh against her clit and she let out a squeaky gasp, and Oliver stopped thinking about anything but Felicity. 

The noises she was making were softer and breathier now, her breasts heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She was so responsive, more than any other woman he had ever been with. It turned him on, made his cock harder than ever before. Once again, he was straining against his pants, and this time, he was going to get more than her mouth.

Leaning in, he pressed kisses along the column of her neck, then sucked on her earlobe. “Condom,” he muttered against the shell of her ear. 

Her hands flailed out, snatching up a condom from the table beside him. “From earlier--glad I didn’t put it away.” She gave him a sexy yet goofy smile and Oliver couldn’t help smiling back at her. 

“You’re a genius.” 

“Yep,” she said, reaching for his belt. 

He hissed as her hands brushed against his cock and she grinned at him. “Ready?” she asked sweetly. 

“Shut up,” he said, echoing her earlier words as he kissed her deeply, sliding his tongue into her mouth and drinking in her taste. 

Her hands trembled against his groin, making his cock twitch, as they kissed. After a moment, the kiss changed. It softened, gentled, back into something more like their first kisses. Even though he felt so turned on that he could come without her even touching him, Oliver lingered on her lips. Wanting this to last. To be good. 

“You care if I rip this?” he asked, tugging on the mesh crotch. 

“No--wait, it--it snaps out,” Felicity panted against his lips before pulling him in for another slow, deep kiss. 

Oliver couldn’t help moaning against her lips. He didn’t understand what was happening: how the sex had started almost angry, then turned teasing, and now was all slow and intimate. It shouldn’t work like this, but it did. 

They worked like this. 

His fingers tensed and yanked on the snaps, tossing aside the mesh and leaving her totally open and free to his hands. So he didn’t wait to slide a finger inside her. 

“Ohhhhhh!” Felicity jerked back from his lips, her eyes closing. Oliver watched her face as he thrust his finger inside her, taking in how gorgeous this woman was.

“Felicity,” he whispered, using his other hand to pull her in for a kiss. She kissed him back, sucking on his lip in time with his finger’s movements and fuck, that was the sexiest thing ever . . . 

“Need you now,” he said, pulling his hand free and trying to rip open the condom packet. But his fingers were so slippery from her juices that he couldn’t do it. 

She let out a soft little breathless laugh and took the packet from him. “Problems, Mr. Queen?” 

Even before her fingers rolled the condom over him, he didn’t have the brainpower to come up with a bantering reply. He could just watch her, his mouth hanging open as he breathed hard, trying to get more air. Felicity got the condom on him, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest before she went up on her knees. Her hand wrapped around him and drew him inside her, her eyes never looking away from his as she lowered herself. 

If he thought her mouth had been amazing, it was nothing compared to her pussy. Because he just slid right into her, she was so wet. It was so effortless that for a split-second, he wondered if perhaps he was going to end up disappointed. That he had hyped up this moment too much in his mind. 

Then Felicity rolled her hips as she clenched her muscles around him, and Oliver realized he would never again underestimate Felicity like that. 

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, wrapping his arms around her. 

The smile she gave him was so impish and mischievous, Oliver couldn’t help grinning at her for a moment, before she began moving and sliding against him in earnest and Jesus, this just felt too good . . . 

“C’mon, Oliver. Move those really nice hips of yours--you feel so good--move, Oliver, move,” Felicity whispered, her voice crooning to him and making him want to do whatever she said. Because she made him feel so good. 

Bracing his feet on the floor, he rocked up into her, driving his cock deep inside her as she squeezed around him. And as he moved, he watched her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, and her pink lipstick was finally smudged in one corner. And seeing that made the pressure coil a little tighter in his groin. 

“Yeah--like that--ooh, don’t stop, Oliver, don’t stop--so good--I need . . .” 

He groaned and picked up the pace, his hips snapping as he drove himself inside her. At the same time, he moved his hand to her clit, stroking it without any barriers, and marveling at how she flinched just a little. Like she was already too sensitive, like some women were after they came. But since she was a climax behind him, Oliver was determined she was going to come first. 

It was sudden. One moment she was rocking against him, clenching her inner muscles, and then, suddenly, she went very still. Her mouth fell open, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Oliver stared back, ready to ask her what was wrong. But before he could get the words out, Felicity jerked and her muscles clamped down on him, making him groan as a counterpoint to her long, soft moan. 

Her body trembled and then relaxed, a soft, dreamy smile on her lips as she fell forward against his chest. His cock was hard as nails and her pussy was so warm and soft around him, it only took two thrusts for him to come. 

But Oliver wondered if it was simply the sight of her smile as she slumped against him that made him climax. 

This climax wasn’t as explosive as before, but it unmanned him just as much. He let his eyes close as he breathed deeply. The sense of peace and warmth and comfort was so all-encompassing, Oliver couldn’t help slipping into a doze. He just felt too good, too relaxed, to do anything else. 

Falling asleep after sex was rare for him. Usually his release gave him only fleeting relief and then his mind would begin working, remembering everything that was waiting for him once he got out of bed. His last time with Helena, the night he had called Felicity, was what he had come to expect from sex. A brief physical relaxation, but never anything for his mind. 

With Felicity, it was different. He felt like the sex was mental as well as physical, and it let this happen: a sleepy, calm feeling, wrapping around him like a blanket on a cold night, that made him sink down into the velvet couch and actually snuggle with her. 

God, he wanted to snuggle. 

The soft brush of lips against his chest made Oliver open his eyes. Looking down, he saw Felicity had wiggled down a little, her head at mid-chest level. Brushing her hair back with one hand, Oliver watched as she pressed kisses over one of his pecs. Her tongue darted out and she licked his nipple, and he sucked in a breath. 

“You are a work of art,” she said, her voice husky and deep. 

The pleasure that went through him at her words was extreme. Well beyond what it should be, but . . . the thought of pleasing her made him feel good. Lazily, he ran his hand up and down her back. “I’ve shown you more skin than you have. Not that I don’t approve of the corset.” 

“Most people want what they expect when they hire a dom,” Felicity said, pressing another kiss to his left pec before resting her head on his shoulder, gazing up at him. “So I give them that.” 

“What about what you want?” 

She looked up at him, her eyelids closing once and her long, dark lashes fluttering. “I find ways to get what I want. It’s not my priority, though.” 

He brushed his lips over her hair, instead of asking all the questions that were bubbling up inside him. How did she start on this path? What did she want? Why did he feel so connected to her, after only a few hours with her? Was this something that happened with all her clients . . . or was he special? 

“So . . .” he said softly. “You said something about us continuing this.” 

“I did,” Felicity said, her blue eyes soft as she gazed up at him. “If that’s what you want. If you want to find a way to tackle your problems.” 

Bringing her arms between them, she pushed herself up and positioned herself on his knee. “You have choices, Oliver. You could keep going like you have been. Or you could go to a therapist or a psychiatrist, get anti-anxiety medication, talk it out on the couch . . . those solutions do work. But they’re not the only options. And some people want out-of-the-box solutions to their problems. That’s where I come in.” 

“Sex as therapy.” 

“Sex, bondage, role play, dom/sub, orgasm denial, pain . . . you name it, I’ll use it to help someone,” Felicity replied lightly. 

Oliver raised his eyebrows, feeling . . . surprised? Confused? Turned on? All of that and more. Felicity had so many layers. He couldn’t picture her tying him up . . . and then the image popped into his head, of silken ropes around his wrists, a blindfold over his eyes and Felicity’s soft, sweet voice whispering in his ear. And his cock stirred a little. 

Swallowing, he looked at her. “So, Doctor . . . ?” 

“Just Felicity is fine. I only have a master’s degree,” she demurred. Before he could ask her about that, she waved a hand in the air. “What did you want to know, Oliver?” 

“If we continue with this . . . what happens? How does this work?” Nervously, he rubbed his hand against her back, his fingers slipping over the leather. 

She shrugged her shoulders. “We’d talk more. I have some thoughts about what might help you, but we’d discuss the options first. I don’t spring anything on my clients.” 

“How often would I see you?” 

It wasn’t normal, to feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff as he waited for her answer to that question, was it? Because this was like a business arrangement, really. Just because they seemed to have a connection--but really, it was just the intimacy of sex, sharing easy conversation with a stranger who didn’t have any expectations of him. If he remembered this was about his issues, that she was doing all this to help him . . . he wouldn’t fool himself. 

With a sigh, Felicity got to her feet and walked over to the counter she had disappeared behind earlier. She picked up a sleek-looking, ultrathin tablet and tapped on the screen, her fingers--with aqua green nails, he noticed for the first time--flying as she tapped and swiped. “I think we’ll start with two times a week. What does your schedule look like?” 

The boring logistics of schedules helped ground this, made him think practically instead of emotionally. “That should work fine. Wednesdays are good for me. What about . . . Sundays?” 

Felicity smiled at him. “Perfect. Penciling you in. Which is not accurate, since I’m putting it in my tablet, but . . . yes. Pencilling you in for Wednesdays and Sundays.” 

Nodding, Oliver ran a hand through his hair. Working out the details, it hit him that it meant that this--that tonight--was over. Even with the prospect of seeing her on Sunday, he knew he should leave. Because what else was there to talk about? 

He didn’t want to leave. But he should. 

“So we’re all set,” he said slowly, looking around for his jacket. And his bow tie. And his shoes. 

“Mmmhmm,” Felicity said, walking over to him. Even though he knew her corset was missing its crotch, she walked like she was wearing an evening gown. Perfectly pulled together. Her confidence remained constant and it amazed him. 

With a swing of her hips, she sat down on his knee. “So I asked you that question. Which is not homework, as I said before. But I was wondering if you’ve gotten any closer to an answer.” 

“Closer to an answer?” he asked, letting one hand rest at her waist. 

She nodded. “Yeah. Because it’s a big question, and you don’t come up with an answer to big questions during the commercial break of an episode of Big Brother.” 

“Do I look like someone who watches reality TV?” he asked, tilting his head to the side as he looked at her. 

Her lips pursed as she considered the question. He liked that she actually was thinking it over. Then she grinned and shook her head. “Nope. So . . . TV timeout during a football game?” 

“That is more accurate,” he said, returning her smile. 

“Yay, me,” she said, leaning in and brushing a kiss over his lips. “So? Closer to an answer?” 

Oliver leaned back against the couch. He had thought a lot about the question: what kind of man would he be if he could let go of his responsibilities, if he didn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders? Felicity was right: it wasn’t an easy question to answer. And he didn’t know if he was closer to an answer . . . but at least the question didn’t scare him anymore. 

It . . . it excited him. Because he had been a spoiled, reckless kid when his parents had laid down the law on him. He hadn’t ever been held accountable for his mistakes, until suddenly he was. Until he couldn’t make any mistakes. There had never been any in-between time. 

So he didn’t know what kind of man he could be without all his duties. Without everything that weighed him down. But . . . . he could find out. He could explore that. With Felicity. 

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, looking her in the eye. “But I think I want to find out.” 

Felicity’s smile was slow and sweet, full of something that looked like pride. And it made him feel warm all over. She leaned in and kissed him again softly, her fingers stroking along his jaw. Then she sighed. “It’s getting late. A girl needs her beauty sleep.” 

The words “You’re already beautiful” very nearly escaped his lips. But it was too close to the kind of thing Oliver Queen, Playboy CEO, would say. Or, even worse, what he’d tell a woman back in his Ollie days. So instead, he just nodded and smiled at her. “Right. Let me just get my things.” 

Rising from his lap, Felicity scooped up her robe and wrapped it around herself, following him to the door. When he reached it, he turned to look down at her. It was so surprising to realize how short she was--in her fishnet-covered feet, she barely came up to his shoulder. But she went beyond her height to seem so much bigger than she was. Not bigger--more imposing? 

He gave his head a shake, which made Felicity’s forehead wrinkle. “You’ve got deep thought face again.” 

“No, not deep thoughts. Not deep at all,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see you on Sunday?” 

She nodded and smiled as he leaned down for a light kiss. “Sunday. Around nine.” 

“Okay . . . okay, I’ll see you then,” Oliver said, taking one last, long look at her before opening the door and stepping out. 

The walk down the hallway seemed so much shorter than it had earlier in the night. Like it was only the matter of a few steps and he was at the elevator. Glancing back, he saw to his surprise that Felicity was standing in the door to her suite, leaning against the jamb and watching him. Something about her appraisal made him cock his head to the side, wondering what she was thinking. Within a moment of his notice, Felicity straightened up, flashed him a smile, and then closed the door softly. 

As Oliver stepped onto the elevator, he thought over how this night had gone. It had been even better than he could have expected--yet at the same time, he was slightly dismayed to realize what he had started. Eventually, he’d have to deal with what he was doing. He did live in his mother’s home, and she would be curious, worried and/or annoyed at him coming home so late without any explanation for where he had been. And while it would be easy to lie and tell her he was with Helena, Oliver had learned long ago that you didn’t use your girlfriend in your lies. Besides which, there was the whole element of ‘CEO has relationship with dominatrix.” The papers would _love_ that.

Stepping onto the elevator, he pressed the button for the lobby before shoving his hands into his pants pockets. Seeing Felicity regularly . . . it wasn’t smart. It was the last thing he should do. 

Which meant he was going to keep doing it. This was an opportunity to do something for himself--something selfish that would also pay off for the people in his life. It would be wrong for him to not pursue this. Sure, this was all a bit . . . unorthodox. But he had clicked with Felicity, in a way he had never expected. He felt comfortable, safe. Protected. 

He was going to do this. He was going to stop avoiding his problems and hoping that they would just go away, and confront them head-on. And he would do it with Felicity. 

As long as he didn’t think too hard about the reasons why, he would be fine.

End, Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have done no research for this fic, really, so if I do anything that flies in the face of accepted practice within the BDSM community, I hope you’ll forgive me--and bring it to my attention if it took you out of the story!

In the four days until his next appointment--rendezvous--date--with Felicity, Oliver found himself doing his best to stay out of his head.  To not think about what could happen on Sunday.  

It helped that his schedule was rather packed: as they approached spring, the charity circuit picked up speed in Starling City, meaning more galas and benefits.  Combined with Queen Consolidated’s acquisition of Unidac Industries becoming final, Oliver didn’t have much time to himself.  But he managed to carve out the time he needed for his workouts and a lunch date with Thea on Saturday.

His baby sister wasn’t really a baby anymore.  She would be eighteen soon and hadn’t been quiet about her desire for a convertible as her birthday gift.  Oliver didn’t think it was a good idea.  Thea might have come a long way from the childhood nickname he gave her, but his Speedy was still impulsive.  And the death of their father had affected Thea more than she let on.  

Oliver had never begrudged Thea a moment of his time, yet he sometimes wondered if he had made the wrong choice, trying to act like her father instead of her brother.  Maybe she wouldn’t have lashed out as she had--the drinking, the shoplifting--if she thought she could come talk to him without having to worry about him punishing her.  Her acts had been small things, particularly for teenagers in their social class, but . . . but that was how it had started with him.  With small things.  And his parents hadn’t put him in check.  And so his behavior had escalated, until he faced a lifetime of guilt and two angry parents, giving him an ultimatum that had changed his life.  

And he didn’t want something like that to happen to Thea.

Moira Queen had overruled Oliver’s objections and had already picked out a sleek silver Audi convertible for Thea.  Meanwhile, he was wracking his brain, working to come up with a birthday gift his sister would like that would also show her that he wanted to spend more time with her.  

“Earth to Ollie.”  

They were sitting in Big Belly Burger--their standard choice for lunch, dating back to their childhoods--and Oliver had been taking a sip of his shake when he spotted a flash of blonde hair through the window.  And that made him think of Felicity: automatically, without any conscious choice.  Remembering what had happened on Wednesday, the relief and comfort he had felt with her.  Feelings that he only rarely got to experience in his day-to-day life.  But it was something he got to have with his sister.  And then Thea’s voice called out to him, teasing him and snapping him out of his thoughts.  

“What?” he asked, turning to look at Thea, who was dipping her fries in her chocolate shake.  

“You went to la la land there for a minute.”  Her smooth forehead wrinkled.  “Is something wrong?”  

That was why he couldn’t let himself think about Felicity: he lost track of everything.  Putting on a smile, he shook his head and picked up his own shake.  “I’m fine, Speedy.”  

“Worst. Nickname. Ever.  And it will always be the worst, Ollie,” Thea said, doing her best to glare at him.  

“I’ll stop calling you that when it stops fitting you,” he said, his smile growing more natural.  Sipping his shake, he leaned back in the booth, brushing aside the thought of Felicity.  Of the question that kept reintroducing itself at the most random moments.  

Thea rolled her eyes, taking a long swallow of her shake while looking at him.  “Seriously, are you okay?  You’ve seemed . . . different lately.”  

“Nothing’s different--I go to the gym, I go to work . . .”  

She shook her head.  “No, something’s different.  But hey, whatever it is, I’m glad.”

“You are?” he asked, feeling the simultaneous urges to fidget and go very still.

“Yeah.  You seem a little more . . . you.”  Thea tilted her head to one side, looking at him.  “A little bit of Ollie, a little bit of Oliver, put together.  Instead of being one or the other.”  

Oliver didn’t think it was likely that one session with Felicity had already yielded so much change in him.  This was the first time in weeks he had spent this much time with Thea; she was probably just getting used to him again.  

But over the next thirty-six hours, Thea’s comment joined Felicity’s question in rotation.  Because what if without his burdens, that was who he was: a little bit Ollie and a little bit Oliver?  But what bits?  What did that even mean?  

It was hard to say.  He hoped that his next appointment with Felicity would give him some clarity.  And would help him figure out what he was going to do about Helena.  

Not until the morning after his night with Felicity did he realize that he had cheated on Helena.  There was no way she would buy the idea of sex as therapy.  The fact was, he had sex with another woman--and had every intention of doing so again.  Which meant he should break up with Helena.  But if he broke up with Helena, there would be questions.  From Helena, from his mother, from society at large.  It might make him a coward, but he wasn’t ready for that.  He could wait a bit longer to tell Helena, he thought.  

After Sunday, he told himself.  He would know more then about where this . . . relationship--no, where this . . . partnership?  arrangement?  Once he knew where this thing was going, he could make a decision about Helena.  Maybe he would break down and talk to Felicity about it.  

Or he could talk to Tommy, he conceded as he drove to the Starling Grand on Sunday evening.  His best friend didn’t know that Oliver had seen Felicity--he had kept that piece of information to himself--so fortunately, Tommy hadn’t been badgering him about how it had gone.  And with Verdant, the nightclub he ran, being short-staffed this week, Tommy had been too busy for their weekly lunch.  

He couldn’t deny that the breathing room was something he appreciated.  And it let him stick to his goal to not spend all his time lost in his thoughts.  But now that he was on his way to see her, Felicity was all he could think about.  How she smelled, how she tasted, the noises she had made . . . but even more than that, it was _her_.  The way she smiled, and tilted her head, and teased him.  How she was so confident, so smart, so clear-sighted.  He wished he had just some of her wisdom.  

As he walked through the lobby, Oliver felt his heart beat harder.  He didn’t know what to expect, but there was a sense of excitement and anticipation that he didn’t often have in his life.

And it was all because of Felicity.  

Glancing at his watch, Oliver pursed his lips.  He was early.  Should he wait in the lobby?  Or could he just knock on her door ten minutes before he was scheduled?  

There wasn’t enough time to get a drink.  And all the years of etiquette lessons his mother had drilled in his head had never really covered being early for a session with a dominatrix.  Besides . . . he didn’t want to wait any longer.  

So he took a chance by taking the elevator to the twenty-third floor of the hotel and walking to the door of Felicity’s suite.  He rolled his shoulders and looked down at his clothing: work boots, jeans, henley and leather jacket.  It was his normal weekend look, something that wouldn’t have attracted any notice from his mother or sister as he left Queen Mansion or from any photographers that might have been lingering around the entrance to the hotel.  That reminded him--he should leave through the rear entrance tonight.  

This was stalling.  Swallowing, Oliver lifted his fist and knocked twice.  

Like on Wednesday night, there was a rustle, and then the door opened.  But instead of the petite blonde he was expecting, he got one of the most physically imposing men he had ever encountered.  

Everything about this man was big--bigger than Oliver.  He was taller, with broader shoulders, larger arms, a wider chest.  For a moment, Oliver wondered if he had the right suite, or if this was one of Felicity’s clients.  And the thought sent a flutter of self-doubt through him, with a tangle of other emotions he didn’t have the time to unknot before the man held a hand out to him.  “Good evening.  I’m John Diggle.”  

The name rang a faint bell, which made Oliver operate on autopilot.  “Oliver Queen,” he replied, shaking the man’s hand and feeling the power of his grip.  “I’m sorry, I’m early--”

“Barely,” Mr. Diggle commented, his voice dry.  He took a step back to allow Oliver to enter.  “Felicity is nearly ready.”  

“Oh . . . okay,” Oliver said slowly.  

Mr. Diggle smiled quickly.  “You may not remember--I’m Felicity’s bodyguard.  The one watching?”  

Now he remembered: giving a little wave to the mirror and saying hello to John, making Felicity laugh at Oliver greeting her bodyguard.  And then he recalled just what Mr. Diggle had been watching and Oliver felt his face go red.  

“Relax, sir.  I make sure the video cameras keep recording, but once the situation becomes intimate, I get very familiar with whatever book I’m reading or the score of the Rockets game.”  Mr. Diggle smiled a little, looking amused.  Like he had answered that unasked question before.  

Trying his best to stay cool, Oliver nodded.  “You’re a Rockets fan?”  

“Starling City born and bred, before four tours with Army Special Forces,” Mr. Diggle said.  “The best days when I was overseas were when I could catch a few innings off the satellite TV.”  

“Leave two men alone and they’ll start talking sports.”  

Felicity’s voice announced her presence.  Without a word, Mr. Diggle stepped away, vanishing through a hidden door in the suite, leaving Oliver alone with her.  

And very grateful for that, since Felicity looked amazing.  

Tonight, she wore a short red robe, putting on display a set of fantastic legs.  Without the fishnets, he could see every inch of her pale, smooth flesh.  His eyes lingered, going from her strappy, black, very high heels to the tops of her thighs where the robe began.  Like before, her hair was in soft waves around her face and shoulders, and her lips were painted a soft red. 

She smiled at him as she walked towards him, her hand reaching out to rest against his chest.  “Good evening, Oliver.”  

It was a bit formal: a strange contrast with her warm smile and come-hither eyes and seductive wardrobe.  He found himself leaning in towards her, his eyes dropping to her lips as he spoke.  “Good evening, Felicity.”  

“How about a kiss hello?” she asked, her lips inches from his.  

“Yes,” he muttered, closing the gap and kissing her slowly.  Letting himself take the time to reacquaint himself with her mouth, with her tongue and her taste.  Her scent washed over him and he moved one arm around her loosely, his fingers spreading over her back.  

For a few long, endless moments, they kissed each other hello.  Felicity’s hand held the edge of his jacket, and when he pulled her closer and her head fell back, her fingers twisted in the leather before she pulled her head back, breaking the kiss.  “Mmmm,” she said, gazing up at him.  “Hello, indeed.”  

Oliver ducked his head, feeling his lips quirk in a small smile.  Feeling flattered and embarrassed and pleased.  

With a soft sigh, Felicity let go of him and took a step back.  “Let me take your jacket.  Did you have dinner before you came here?”  

“I did,” he said, letting his jacket slide off his shoulders and then handing it over to her.  Watching as she moved towards a coat rack and hung his jacket on one of the pegs.  “Why?”  

“You’ll need your strength tonight,” she said, looking at him over his shoulder and giving him a wink.  “How about a drink?"

All he could do was nod, his mind whirling at the promise in her words.  He felt like a fly in amber as he kept watching her move, trying to memorize the gentle sway of her hips as she walked towards the drink cart.  Not to mention exactly how mouth-watering her ass looked, even obscured by her robe.

“How have you been, Oliver?”  

“Oh--um, good,” he said, pulling his eyes away from her body and focusing on her face.  “I . . . I’ve been busy.”  

“Good busy or bad busy?” she asked, her head cocked to one side as she handed him a tumbler of Scotch.  

He took a sip of his drink before he spoke.  “Good busy, I think.  I had lunch with my sister yesterday.”  

Felicity’s smile was soft but bright, lighting up the dimly-lit suite.  “What was that like?”  

“It was the first time I got to see her in a while.  I mean, I see her every day, nearly, since we’re both living at home, but we haven’t been able to just sit down and talk for a while.”  Oliver found himself gravitating over to the couch as he spoke, until he was sitting down by the time he finished.  

“There’s a few years between the two of you, isn’t there?” Felicity asked, joining him on the couch.  Choosing to sit close to him, instead of maintaining space between them.  

Even though she was bound to know the answer already, Oliver liked that she asked the question.  That she was letting him explain things and put them in his own words.  “Nearly ten years.  Thea was a surprise.”  

“And how did little Oliver feel about getting a baby sister?”  She quirked an eyebrow, grinning at him.  

“He hated it,” Oliver replied with his own grin.  “I didn’t want to share my toys or Raisa with anyone.”  

“Raisa?”

He stretched his arm out along the back of the couch, behind Felicity’s head.  “Our housekeeper.  More like my second mother.  She was amazing--she was the one I went to when I skinned my knees or got a bad grade at school.”  Oliver gazed off into space.  “She moved back to Russia four years ago.  Her sister was sick and Raisa needed to take care of her.”  

Felicity didn’t say anything, the silence filling the suite.  Letting him get lost in his memories.  Thinking about Raisa made him remember the days when all it took to make him feel better was a sugar cookie, her warm smile, and a quiet, “You are a good boy, Oliver.”

“You miss her,” Felicity said softly.  

Turning his head, Oliver looked at Felicity.  He realized that his hand had dropped down to rest on her shoulder, his thumb brushing back and forth against the satin of her robe.  “I do,” he replied.  “I . . . I thought about asking her to come back, when Thea started getting into trouble, but I didn’t want to take her away from her sister.  From her home.”  

Nestling in against his side, Felicity rested her hand on his chest.  “Is your sister all right?  What kind of trouble is she in?”  

Throwing back some Scotch, Oliver shrugged his shoulder.  “Stupid stuff, I know.  The same kind of shit I did when I was her age--drinking, petty crimes.  But I worry that it’s going to escalate.  And my mother doesn’t see it.”  

“Does your sister know you’re worried about her?”  

Oliver frowned, surprised at the question.  “I suppose she does.”  

“You might want to make sure,” Felicity said, running her fingers lightly over his chest.  “Tell her that you’re worried and see what happens.  Sometimes, if we feel like no one notices us, we try to get attention--any kind of attention.  You know what they say: bad attention is better than no attention at all.”  

“Thea doesn’t have to do that, though--she knows I’d give her anything she needs,” he argued.  

“I’m sure she does know that,” Felicity said, leaning in to brush a kiss over his jaw.  “But maybe she needs a reminder.”  

Leaning back, he thought that over, then nodded.  “Okay.”  

“Good,” Felicity replied, smiling at him.  She kissed his jaw again and then nuzzled his neck.  “Mmm, how are you feeling?”  

Her low voice sent a pulse through his body, one that settled in his groin and made him crave her warmth.  

“Good . . . although I could feel even better,” he whispered softly, tilting his head back so she had more access.

Felicity let out a soft giggle.  She kissed his neck and then pulled away.  “Down, boy.  For a little while.  I want to try an experiment with you tonight.”  

An experiment?  The loose, relaxed feeling faded as he felt a rush of worry and uncertainty.  It eased slightly as he watched Felicity move into his lap, straddling his thighs and putting her legs oh-so-close to his hands.  

“What kind of experiment?” he asked, seeking her comfort by placing his hand on her knee.  The feel of her soft skin soothed him, as did the visual of his large hand against her pale flesh.  

“Easy, Oliver,” she told him softly, her hands stroking his shoulders.  “We’re just talking right now.  And if and when we start anything, we’ll make sure we’re ready.  Consent given by both of us and a safe word ready to go.”  

He nodded, remembering her lessons from last time.  “Orange.”  

She smiled and pecked his lips.  “Yes, orange.  Okay?”  

Taking a deep breath and then letting it out, Oliver kept his eyes on Felicity’s.  Seeing the comfort she was offering.  If he didn’t even want to talk about this experiment of hers, he could tell she would accept that.  But in just five minutes of small talk, she had helped him see Thea in a new light.  Gave him a new approach to try.  

That was without even trying.  What could she--what could they--achieve when they were really working on his issues?

“Okay,” he said softly.  “What is it?”  

“Well,” Felicity said, lifting his glass of Scotch from his hand and setting it aside, “I’d like to try something other than just sex tonight.”  She ran her hands up and down his arms, then took his hands and drew them behind her back, wrapping her in his arms.  “Do you know anything about dominance and submission?”  

“Not--not really,” he replied, hearing his voice catch as he tried to sound calm.  Trying not to reveal that his mind was giving him multiple images at her words, from the magazines and movies he had seen over the years.  Images that now all featured a playful, intoxicating blonde.  “Because I doubt porn really does it right, yeah?”  

Her lips pursed lightly and Oliver had to pull her in for a kiss.  Had to.  It was a moral imperative.  He could feel Felicity smile against his lips.  “Mmm, you’d be surprised,” she whispered against his mouth.  Then she straightened up, moving away from him enough so that they couldn’t kiss.  

“What I’d like to try is something simple: we’d start with you telling me what you want me to do to you.  If you don’t tell me to do it, I won’t do it.  And you’ll need to be detailed,” Felicity explained, her hands moving over his shoulders.  Her lips quirked in a teasing smile.  “Very detailed.”

It was all he could do not to groan and crush her against him.  To devour her mouth.  Because her idea, this experiment?  It triggered something inside him, some secret desire he never knew he had.  His brain was already working, trying to decide what he wanted Felicity to do, how to tell her to do it, how she would make him feel--even if it wasn’t sex, he had a feeling that he would still get turned on.  Just from having Felicity be at his command . . .

“Don’t go away on me, Oliver,” Felicity said, running her hand through his hair and gently drawing his gaze back to hers.  “This exercise is about staying in control.  It’s not about sex or getting off.  It’s about you saying exactly what you want from me while keeping me safe.  Being the dominant one isn’t about ordering someone around--it’s about being a protector.”  

“It--it is?” he asked, trying to grasp what she was explaining.  Feeling like he was missing something.  Because the very words, dominant and submissive--who would want to be the weaker one?  The one to give in?  

Felicity chewed a little on her lower lip.  “Hmm,” she said, her pretty face screwed up in concentration.  “I think this is going to be more complex than I realized.  Let me just . . .”  

Reaching forward, she ran her hands over his face and into his hair.  Her fingers stroked his jaw and smoothed over his temples, tapped against the tip of his nose and rubbed against his lips.  And through it all, she looked into his eyes, like she was looking for something.  Some answer or solution.  Oliver didn’t know what she was looking for, didn’t know what was going on inside her head, but . . . but what she was doing was so incredibly soothing and erotic, he let her think.  Let her search.  Gave himself over to her.  

And then, she smiled brightly.  “I’ve got it.  Okay, so this experiment just got bigger, but we’ve got the time tonight, since you got here earlier.  Okay?”  

“Okay . . .” he said slowly.  “But what’s happening?”  

“We’re going to take turns,” Felicity said, brushing a soft kiss over his lips.  “We’ll start with you in the dominant role, and then we’ll switch and I’ll be the dom.  So you can see both sides, and we can work out how you respond to each.  Because right now, when I was touching you?  You went into a submissive space, letting me soothe you.  And that can be incredibly comforting, to have someone else be focused on taking care of you.  But I think you also need to learn how to ask for what you need--and in a pinch, tell someone what you need.”  

Oliver pressed his lips together as he thought over what Felicity was saying.  It all felt so foreign to him, this idea of demanding what he wanted while protecting someone else.  Because wasn’t that what he already did with all the people in his life?  He used his money and his name to get what he wanted.  Although this, what Felicity was talking about--it wasn’t like that.  It wasn’t about using what he had to get her to do what he wanted.  It was simpler, more direct.  She would do what he told her to do, because he was telling her to do it.  And then their positions would be reversed, and she would tell him what she wanted from him.  Honestly, with no bullshit or hiding.  

Either choice sounded . . . intriguing.    

Licking his lips, he looked at Felicity.  Felicity, who had been watching him, who had let her hands lightly rest on his shoulders, whose lips were curved in a soft, gentle, pleased smile.  

“I’m willing,” he told her.  “Willing to try both, I mean.”

“Me, too,” she said, squeezing his shoulders gently.  “Let’s go into the bedroom so we can be more comfortable.”  

The bedroom?  The room where she slept?  Or was it the room where she entertained her clients?  Oliver wanted to ask, but he held his tongue.  Instead, he watched as Felicity lifted herself off his lap and then held her hand out to him.  

He took her hand and pushed himself to his feet, following Felicity.  Enjoying having her fingers curled around his.  Given what they had already shared, it was ironic that holding her hand made his body tingle, but Oliver was pretty sure that when it came to Felicity and himself, all the standard, normal rules of interaction had gone out the window a long time ago.  

When he stepped into Felicity’s bedroom, he was reminded of what she had said during their first encounter: about giving people what they expected.  Because this room had clearly seen some of her own touches, like the living room of the suite, to become the kind of room you would expect from a dominatrix.  From the black duvet and dark red sheets, to the tall pillar candles and the dim lighting, it was all part of the image.  

“Take off everything but your underwear and lie face down on the bed, Oliver,” Felicity said, picking up a pink Zippo lighter and beginning to light the candles.  

Slowly, Oliver undressed, noticing how Felicity’s eyes flicked to his while she moved around the room.  But just as often as her eyes met his, she looked at his abs or his legs or his groin.  It made his shoulders fall back, made him stand to his full height for a moment as he held her gaze.  Then he crawled onto the bed and lay on his stomach, biting his lip momentarily as his cock pressed against the soft mattress.  

The fragrance from the candles that filled the air was warm and rich: vanilla and cinnamon.  He was already imagining what it would be like to lick Felicity’s citrus-scented skin while breathing in the spicy candles.  Whether it was the perfume in the air, or his daydream, Oliver felt himself relax into the bed.  When he felt a soft weight settle onto his lower back, he stayed still.

“Mmm, you’re ready to fall asleep on me.  We can’t have that,” Felicity crooned softly.  Something brushed against his upper back, and then her lips were against his ear.  “What’s the safe word, Oliver?”  

“Orange,” he breathed out.  

She kissed his earlobe, giving it a light suck.  “Good.  Do I have your consent to touch you?”  

He nodded, so ready for this.  For whatever was going to happen.  “Yes.”  

Her nose nuzzled against his shoulder.  “Ask me if you have my consent to be told what to do.”  

His hand reached back, finding her knee.  He slid his hand up her leg as best as he could in the awkward position, and then lifted up and turned so he was looking back at her over his shoulder.  “Felicity, do I have your consent to tell you what to do to me?”  

Under his hand, her skin came over in goose bumps.  “Yes, Oliver,” she answered, her voice low and soft.

Pressing his shoulders gently back down to the bed, Felicity then plucked his hand off her leg and returned it to his side.  And then . . . nothing happened.  

Oliver frowned.  He was supposed to be telling her what to do . . . but what were they doing?  What did he want her to do?  

Touch him.  He wanted Felicity to touch him.  

Before he spoke, he cleared his throat.  “Touch me.”  

Nothing happened, again.  Oliver pulled his arm underneath himself and used it to lift up, turning to look back at Felicity.  “What am I doing wrong?”  

Felicity gave him a lopsided smile.  “Nothing.  But being a dominant, you need to be very specific with me.  I’m like a computer: you can tell me to touch you, but I don’t understand how to do that.  You need to say where you want to be touched, with what, how hard and for how long . . . okay?”  

_Detailed.  Very detailed_.  He couldn’t help smiling a little.  “Okay,” he replied, before he returned to position, settling his chin against the smooth, soft sheets. 

Closing his eyes, Oliver breathed out.  He pictured Felicity in his mind’s eye, imagining her in that red robe, sitting on his back, her hands resting by her sides.  Her face calm, a small smile on her lips, her eyes sparkling.

"Put your hands on my shoulders and rub them.   Gently," he clarified when she just rested her hands there at first.

She massaged his shoulders slowly, her touch just above feather light.  Oliver breathed in, then said, "Harder.  On a scale of one to ten, go to a three."

"Very good," Felicity murmured, her hands increasing the pressure.

Letting out a sigh, Oliver felt himself sink into the bed.  Savoring how relaxed he already felt, but knowing that there was so much more.  That there were still hidden pockets of stress inside him.  Pockets that he wanted Felicity to help him find and eliminate.

"Run your hands up and down my back, along my spine," he instructed.  "At a four, please."

As soon as he finished speaking, Felicity was stroking the sides of his spine, her fingers digging into his muscles slightly.  It was like the massages he got at the gym, but so much better.  During those rubdowns, he was always waiting for what would happen, where he would be touched next, that he never felt like his mind got a break during the exercise.  It only dealt with any lingering stiffness from his workout.

But this. . .  this was so much better.  Even as his body loosened, he felt a calm washing over him.  Because he was in control.

"Use the heels of your hands now, the same path and pressure--ooohhh," he groaned, as Felicity's hands pressed against him.  God, that felt good.

"Don't stop," he said when Felicity paused. "Harder."

He felt her shift and then she really leaned her weight into her hands, giving him more pressure, her fingers digging into his back.  

"The sides of my back--knead there, same pressure," he breathed out.

"Okay," Felicity said softly, sliding her hands to the areas above his hips.  Each hand grasped his sides and squeezed and rolled his flesh, firm and even.

"God, your hands are magic," he muttered.

Felicity let out a quiet laugh.  "Thank you."  He thought her touch softened for a moment, became more of a caress than anything else.  But then, before he had time to consider what she was doing, the pressure resumed.

"Just. . . brush your hands up and down my sides lightly," he asked.  Wanting a break.  Wanting to see how close she got to his body.

Like he hoped, when she leaned forward to reach up towards his armpits, he could feel the barest brush of her breasts against his back.  His groin tightened, making him press his cock against the bed a little.

The softness was even better than the firmness, he thought.  Because it meant the mood between them shifted, becoming something intimate and knowing.  Her fingers left trails of fire against his skin, the longer she stroked his sides.

"Kiss between my shoulder blades when your hands are at the top of my sides."

"Mmm," Felicity murmured, a hint of amusement in her voice.  But her lips pressed softly against him, as he told her, each time her hands slid up.

Oliver swallowed, feeling his body grow warmer.  Loosening even as he felt his cock harden.  He fleetingly remembered that Felicity had mentioned not just sex tonight.  That was probably why she had set this up as a nonsexual massage.  So he could maintain control.  And take care of his submissive.

To take care of Felicity.  But at this moment, he had a different idea of how he would like to take care of her.

All he wanted was to roll over.  Tear off Felicity's robe and plunge into her body.  But . . . that didn't seem to be the point right now.  It was about saying what he wanted and Felicity giving it to him, instead of him just taking.

But he didn’t understand why.  What was he supposed to do?  He was supposed to tell her what to do, but if he made it about his dick, would that be it?  Would she think he only wanted sex?  He didn’t, not really.  He wanted . . . closeness.   

He felt too warm.  His heart was starting to race: a sign that the panic was approaching.  He couldn’t keep doing this.  He--he needed to stop.  He didn’t want to hurt Felicity.  Oliver squeezed his eyes shut.  "Orange.  Orange."

Immediately, Felicity stopped touching him.  She climbed off him and he could sense that she was stretching out beside him, close but giving him space.  "Oliver?" she asked, her voice soft and reassuring.

Fumbling, his eyes still closed, Oliver reached out and grabbed Felicity's hand.  Her fingers laced through his, holding on.  Then her thumb started rubbing against his skin, the small motion helping him stay calm.  Oliver breathed in and out slowly, feeling the panic become less all-encompassing.

After a few moments, he felt ready to open his eyes.  Wondering what he would see in Felicity's eyes.  Anger?  Disappointment?  Resentment?  Something that made it clear that she was reconsidering this whole relationship?

Even with his eyes open, he hesitated, letting his eyes linger on Felicity’s chin.  But when he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer, he lifted his gaze to hers.

And he saw nothing in her face that he feared he would see.  No, there was . . . caring.  Concern.  Maybe even worry?  He wasn’t sure.  But the relief that poured over him made him slump against the bed and grip her hand even tighter.  

“Oliver, talk to me,” Felicity said, her request gentle yet insistent.  Not an order, but she definitely wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

“I . . . I was--”  He didn’t want to tell her everything.  But the way she was looking at him, so close . . . she would know if he held back.  And what if he did tell her everything?  What if someone knew the full truth about him?

“I felt like I might be having a panic attack,” he blurted out.  “And I didn’t want to hurt you.”  

Felicity gazed at him, and then she scooted closer to him.  “Okay,” she said softly.  “Let’s focus on helping you feel better.  Is there anything that helps with the panic?”  

“Usually just, you know--deep breaths.  Closing my eyes.  Being alone.”  When he said it out loud, it didn’t seem like much.  In fact, it didn’t seem like nearly enough to help him cope with the panic attacks.  

“Is that what you want right now?” she asked.  “I can go into the other room--”

“No.  Don’t go,” he said quickly.  

She nodded and squeezed his hand.  “I won’t go.  I’ll stay right here.”  

“Okay.  Okay,” he replied, looking at her.  Tired of holding back.  So he let his eyes roam over her face.  Feeling the comfort and reassurance and pleasure of examining her face, memorizing her features.  Letting himself get lost in her, like he had been trying not to do since he left her in the early hours of Thursday morning.  

Her brows were dark and expressive, rising and falling to punctuate her words.  Her skin was smooth, making him think she was a few years younger than him, at least.  Yet she had mentioned having a master’s degree.  Her intelligence shone in her eyes and infused every word she said.  It was new for him to find a woman’s brain as attractive as her body.  Especially when her body was soft yet strong, when she had blue eyes that he wanted to get lost in and hair he wanted to wrap around his fingers.  And a mouth that whispered words of comfort and pressed hot little kisses against his own lips.  

Oliver suddenly realized that he felt calm.  At peace.  The panic had eased, his heart was beating normally, and he knew he was safe.  

“Felicity,” he breathed out, letting go of her hand and cupping the back of her head.  He drew her in and kissed her slowly, needing that connection with her right now.  

A soft noise escaped her as their lips met, then she moved closer to him, wrapping her arm around him.  She kissed him back, her lips soft and tender against his, her fingers tracing light patterns over his bare back.  

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be about kissing or touching or sex tonight.  But he was realizing that he needed that physical connection.  That even though Felicity always seemed to know what to say, her touch reinforced her words and made it all sink in for him.  Slowly the kiss ended, Oliver choosing to stay close to her, to nuzzle her neck and breathe her in.  “Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome,” she told him quietly.  “I’m proud of you.”  

Surprised, Oliver lifted his head and looked at her.  “What?”

She smiled at him, her hand moving up to stroke his hair.  “You used the safe word.  You didn’t worry about saving face or tried to ignore what you were feeling.  You let yourself feel it, Oliver.”

Blinking, he stared at her.  Was that what had happened?  Was that what sparked his panic attacks--trying to hold off his emotions, but they were too strong and overwhelmed him?  He didn’t know.  But the idea that Felicity was proud of him . . . it made him feel good.  So good.  

Her hands kept stroking his hair.  “This is a process, Oliver.  You’re going to have good days and bad days.  It’s all about learning to manage the bad days and remembering that your good days are right around the corner.”  

“You make it sound easy,” he said softly, moving his hand to run up and down her arm.  

“If I am, I’m not explaining it well,” she replied, her eyes locked on his.  “You’re going to have setbacks.  And that’s okay.  I’m here for you.”  

Oliver nodded, feeling the truth in her words.  She was here for him.  He believed that.  He couldn’t help believing her.  And that belief helped alleviate his embarrassment.  

“So what happens now?” he asked, looking into her eyes.  

“What do you want, Oliver?”  Felicity answered his question with a question before she brushed her lips over his.  

Part of him thought he should leave.  Mull over everything they had talked about tonight, consider what to do about these panic attacks.  Maybe even call Helena and tell her he wanted to talk, as the opening to breaking up with her.  

But that part of himself, Oliver completely ignored.  “Can we keep going?  I mean . . . you said we would switch roles.”  

Felicity’s eyes widened.  “You still want to play?”  

Something about her choice of words gave him pause.  But in a good way.  Because . . . this was about playing.  About exploring and learning and changing, in a way that felt less threatening, less scary, than traditional attempts at dealing with psychological issues.  

It was only their second session, but he was hooked on Felicity’s approach.  And he didn’t want to leave here without the full experience.  

Looking into her blue eyes, Oliver nodded.  “Yes, I want to play.”  

His voice was a bit lower than normal, he realized.  And he thought Felicity shivered slightly, but it might only be his imagination.  Because then she smiled slowly at him: a smile that made him think of a phrase he had heard but never really understood what it meant until he saw it on Felicity’s face.

She looked like the cat who got the canary.  And Oliver had the feeling he was the canary right now.  

And he loved it.  

End, Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut in this chapter, I know--consider this a respite, a breather, before what I have planned for the next chapter. :-)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I definitely sympathize with Stephen Amell slamming a barbell into his jaw and hurting his tongue, God knows I appreciated the Captain providing some up-close visuals of his tongue. For reasons, as you’ll soon see. :-)
> 
> Enjoy today’s chapter! Many thanks to fanmommer, callistawolf and closer2fine for being amazing first readers and excellent cheerleaders.

“All right, but I think you should put your pants back on first.”  

Oliver arched his eyebrow, looking at Felicity.  “Really?”  

“Really,” she echoed, leaning in to kiss him softly.  When she pulled back, she still had that smile on her face, that self-satisfied smirk.  The one that made him think she was right and he should wear pants for whatever she was planning.  If only so he didn’t embarrass himself.  Not when he was trying not to go into a spiral after putting a stop to his attempt at being the dominant.  

Climbing off the bed, Oliver picked up his jeans and slid them on.  He debated for a moment before deciding to leave the button unfastened.  Then he turned to look at Felicity, hoping to fight fire with fire: she was definitely appreciative of his body, and even if she was the dominant one right now, he wanted her to see more of what he had to offer.  

But when he looked at her, kneeling in the middle of the bed, he realized Felicity was the expert at this game.  And all she had needed to do was take off her robe and reveal what she had been wearing underneath it.  

Which was the most sinful bra and panty set he had ever seen, showing more of her body than he had seen up until now.  A body that made his blood boil.  

Dark black lace wrapped around her hips and lifted her breasts, with red ribbons fastening the sides of her panties and outlining the cups of the bra.  Her skin was so pale and fair, the contrast with the lace and ribbons was extreme.  As he stared at her, Felicity let her shoulders fall back, pushing her breasts out slightly, before she lifted one hand to run through her hair.  Her other hand ran over her stomach in a diagonal line, heading right towards one of the ties on her panties.  

“Holy shit fuck,” Oliver breathed out.  

And just like that, Felicity dropped her sex kitten act and laughed.  “Holy shit fuck?” she asked, her nose wrinkling in amusement as she dropped back to a sitting position, her legs folded underneath her.

“I–I tried to say holy shit and holy fuck at the same time,” he muttered, feeling his cheeks go red but unable to look away from her.  

“You sure know how to raise a girl’s confidence, Oliver,” she said, smiling brightly at him.  She extended an arm out to him, holding her hand up.  “C’mere.”  

With one long stride, he was by the bed, taking her hand.  Holding her hand was enough to calm his urges slightly, but Oliver still felt the fingers of his free hand rubbing together, so ready to touch her.  Felicity rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, gazing at him.  “What’s the safe word?”  

He lifted their joined hands, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles.  “Orange.  You have my permission to tell me how to touch you.”  

“Someone’s a fast learner,” Felicity said, her eyes sparkling at him.  Making him feel confident and strong and capable, in a way that nothing else had ever done.  She went up on her knees and kissed his chin.  “You have my consent to touch me.”  

Tipping his head down to press a soft kiss to her lips, Oliver took a deep breath and let go of her hand.  He stood with his hands at his sides, waiting for Felicity to tell him what to do.  

Her eyes ran over him slowly.  He could feel her gaze linger at the waistband of his jeans, taking in the undone button.  Then she dragged her eyes up his torso until blue met blue.  And she gave him a tiny, excited smile.  One that promised very, very good things.    

“Lay me down on the bed, Oliver,” she requested, her voice throaty.  

Oliver’s hands reached out, but then he stopped as he realized something.  Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he asked, “On your front or on your back?”  

Felicity’s smile widened and became as bright as the sun.  “A _very_ fast learner.  On my back, please.”  

Nodding, Oliver reached for her, carefully wrapping one arm around her waist and the other across her back, supporting her shoulders and head.  Moving slowly, keeping his eyes locked on hers, he lifted her off her knees.  Once she had straightened her legs, Oliver bent at the waist and gently settled her on the bed.  He drew his arms away and gazed down at her.  

How did she look even more exquisite reclining against the dark red sheets?  Her hair was spread out in a mess of curls, like a halo around her head.  Her hands rested on her stomach, her fingers tracing small patterns against her skin and making his mouth go dry.  

“I’d like you to kiss me now,” Felicity said, making his eyes jerk from her body to her face.  “On the mouth.  Slowly.  No tongue.  Without touching me anywhere else.”  

Was her plan to torture him?  Or make him beg?  Because at this moment, Oliver was pretty sure that was the goal.  But she was the one in charge right now.  And it was sexy as hell, to have a woman tell him what she wanted from him.  For her to know exactly what would make her hot.  

One of her eyebrows went up.  “I said now, Oliver.”  

The ice in her voice, the sense that he was disappointing her, made Oliver move.  He leaned down, putting his palms against the sheets on either side of her head and being careful not to touch her anywhere except where she told him he was allowed: her mouth.  

He brushed his lips against hers, going an inch at a time.  He set a slow pace, moving his lips back and forth, her lipstick letting their mouths glide without friction.  The kisses were soft and slow and incredibly erotic, even with being closed-mouth.  

Every so often, he would pause and look at her eyes, checking if she wanted him to stop or do something else.  But from the blissed-out look on her face, she seemed content to have him kiss her.  

_I find ways to get what I want.  It’s not my priority, though_.

Was this what she meant?  Did Felicity long to have someone kiss her like this?  Or was it something deeper, a need to have someone take care of her for once?  Oliver wasn’t sure.  Despite the trust he had in her, there was so little that he knew about her.  But as he kept kissing her, he felt a powerful need to take care of her.  Just like before.  She drew this need out of him, without making him feel like it was a responsibility.  

She was so amazing.  

The next time he paused, Felicity sighed.  “With tongue now.”  

“Yes,” he murmured, letting his tongue flick against her lips.  Her mouth immediately parted, allowing him entry, allowing him to taste her.  And with single-minded determination, Oliver did just that.  He swept his tongue against hers, stroked the roof of her mouth, sucked on her lower lip and lightly nipped her upper lip.  He had kissed dozens–maybe hundreds–of women in his life, and he used every single bit of knowledge he had picked up over the years as he kissed Felicity.  

A soft groan vibrated through her, making him pause, his lips hovering over hers, to look at her.  Her face was flushed and her eyes were the color of the sky before a storm: a deep blue-gray.  Her chest rose and fell, making her spectacular breasts strain against her bra.  God, he wanted to rip it off with his teeth and suck on her skin until she was red all over–

No.  Oliver tamped down the thought, keeping himself from becoming the aggressor.  Felicity had said something about going into the submissive space–he needed to stay in that place.  Pleasuring Felicity and taking pleasure in that.  

“My neck–kiss my neck.  Right side.  Run your lips over my skin–your stubble, too,” Felicity directed him breathlessly.  

“Yeah,” he whispered, shifting lower so he was positioned with his mouth over the column of her throat.  He began by peppering kisses against her skin, the traces of her lipstick on his mouth making his lips slide over her neck.  To counter the softness, he nuzzled her skin in a few places, raising red patches from the bristles on his face.  She liked that–but not as much as when, after a few moments, he parted his lips to begin placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on her.  

Under his mouth, he could feel her shiver with each touch, and Oliver felt addicted.  He was getting his earlier fantasy, of tasting her skin while breathing in the candle fragrance, and it was even better than he had imagined.  

“Suck!  Suck on my neck,” Felicity commanded.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her hands grip the sheets tightly.  A dozen different suggestions for where else she could put her hands sprang into his mind, but Oliver pushed them aside in favor of doing as she told him.  

Aiming for pleasure instead of discomfort, Oliver sucked softly on her neck.  Not trying to mark her, even though he wanted to, but instead listening to her breathy gasps to direct him.  Along her jaw and at the base of her throat seemed to be the places she most responded to, so he kept up the pressure at those spots.  

Oliver had told her that he liked to make women come.  As he kissed and sucked on her skin, he was discovering just how much he liked it.  In fact … he loved it.  This was the second time he was taking Felicity to the edge, and he had never wanted to make a woman fall apart more than he wanted Felicity to do so.  

The woman in question–the beautiful, smart, generous woman in question–suddenly let go of the sheets and gripped his waist.  “Oliver–” she moaned.  “Take my bra off.”  

All he could think was _yes_!  Lifting his hands from the bed, he moved them underneath her, feeling for the clasp of the bra.

“Front clasp,” Felicity choked out, looking up at him.  Her eyes were still dark, but there was a flicker of humor there.  It made her seem more like herself, and Oliver couldn’t help grinning at her.  

“I should have asked first,” he acknowledged, letting his hands slowly drift over her bra and around her rib cage to her front.  Her breasts felt warm and firm, even with that teasing touch, and he couldn’t wait to really get his hands on her. 

“I’ll let it slide–oh!” she gasped, staring up at him as he undid her bra.  

He bit his lower lip, needing that spark of pain to keep him focused as he drew apart her bra and released her breasts.  Because holy fuck, she was perfect.  Creamy-skinned with tight, pink nipples, her breasts were round and pert and like something out of a magazine.  But also not, because they weren’t so voluptuous that they were out of proportion to her body.  He drew the bra away from her, soaking up the image of Felicity in just her little, side-tie panties.  He dropped the bra on the floor and met Felicity’s eyes, waiting her instruction.

Felicity closed her eyes, breathing in and out, and Oliver felt a flicker of worry.  Should he ask her if she wanted to stop?

“Kiss me again, like you were doing before, while playing with my breasts,” Felicity said, sounding like she was trying to gather her control.  Like she needed to be in control.  That was something he tucked away to think about later.  Instead, he leaned down again and kissed her, propping himself up with one arm on the bed.  With his other hand, he slowly circled her breast.

Touching her like this set off a whirlwind of emotions inside him. Emotions he hadn’t been expecting. Because this arrangement between him and Felicity … it should be all business.  It was about healing him.  But it didn’t feel like that to him.  It felt like … more.

This wasn’t the time to think about this, though.  He wanted Felicity to get exactly what she wanted, wanted to take care of her and please her.  He wanted to give her everything. All of him.

So he focused on kissing her even better than before. To give himself better balance, he set his knees on the bed, on either side of her hips, letting both hands be free.  He stroked and cupped her breasts, kneading the soft flesh and making her moan against his mouth. And when he started rolling and plucking her nipples, Felicity pulled her mouth away from his and gasped, “Kiss my breasts, suck on my nipples, now!”

He couldn’t resist shooting her a small, cocky smile as he scooted down her body.  But kissing her breasts made him forget about being smug.  Not with how responsive she was.  The moment his lips touched her flesh, she cried out, arching up against his mouth.  Her hands, which had fallen from his sides, clutched at his shoulders.  Then, as he sucked slowly on one of her nipples, laving it with his tongue and making it twist into a tight, perfect bud, her fingers went into his hair, holding his head in place.  

Which was completely unnecessary, since the last thing he wanted was to leave this place.  Oliver switched from one breast to the other, sucking and licking and kissing, using his hands to improve his mouth’s work.  And through it all, he kept his focus on Felicity.  Ignoring his own body, the way his flesh burned with need for her, how his cock felt so impossibly hard and confined in his jeans.  

This was all about Felicity.  

The only sound in the room was the sound of him sucking on her breasts and Felicity’s gasps and moans.  They were getting progressively higher-pitched, making Oliver wonder if it really was possible for a woman to climax from breast play, when Felicity’s fingers tightened in his hair.  “Oliver–”  

Letting go of her nipple with a pop, Oliver lifted his head and looked at her.  “Felicity?”  

Felicity’s face was red, her lips puffy from his kisses.  She was taking deep breaths, sucking air in through her mouth as she looked up at him.  Her eyes seemed almost … skittish?  Like her fight or flight instinct was kicking in.  

Should he break out of the submissive role?  Stroke her face, move away from her, ask her what was wrong?  He started to shift a little, preparing to roll away from her, but Felicity swallowed and tightened her grip on him.  “Stay.”  

Her voice was … different.  There was a vulnerability there that made him look harder at her, but her eyes were shuttered.  For once, he couldn’t see what she’s feeling or thinking.  And that bothered him.  But he did what Felicity asked: he stayed.

After a few moments, he could feel her start to relax.  Her breaths came easier.  Then she smiled at him, her eyes regaining most of their sparkle.  “You’re not done with me yet.”  

“Whatever you want.”  The words slipped out, in a soft, sincere voice.  Felicity’s eyes fluttered, her mouth momentarily rounding in an O of surprise.  He felt his own face grow red as she stared up at him, then she took a breath and licked her lips.  

“Use your teeth to untie my panties.”  

This time, the vulnerability was gone from her voice.  She spoke slowly, her tone low and dark, as she issued him a command filled to the brim with sex and desire.  It was hot as hell … but for a moment, he wondered why she had changed gears like this.  

_Because you managed to turn her on, you idiot, and you’re making her wait while you think about your feelings._

Remembering what this was about–who this was about–Oliver did as Felicity told him.  He maintained eye contact as he moved down her torso.  Her hands kept touching him until she couldn’t reach and then they fell limply to the sheets.

When he was in position, he finally dropped his gaze to take in her underwear.  The black lace was smooth and close-fitting to her body, the red ribbons thin and delicate at each side.  Tied in two perfect little bows, the ribbons were almost too pretty to untie.  Yet at the same time, Oliver felt a burning compulsion to tug on the ribbons, to unknot the bow like Felicity wanted him to, to give her what she wanted.  

“Oliver, do it,” Felicity ordered, her voice firm.  

For a split second, he was ready to say orange.  To stop this and figure out what was going on with her.  But … but that was crazy.  She was a dominatrix, the expert.  And he was probably making the biggest mistake of all time, letting his feelings come into play at a time like this.  If Felicity felt like she was losing control, she would stop.  He trusted her to know herself, just like she seemed to know him.  

Still, he glanced up at her as he lowered his head to her hip.  He took one end of the ribbon between his teeth and tugged slowly, watching as the bow came apart.  Now the two ends were just crossed over each other, and he leaned in, his lips making contact with her skin, as he used his tongue to finish the job.  

The moment his mouth was on her, Felicity shivered and then sighed, long and slow.  It was hypnotic, that sound.  It was like she was letting go of tension she didn’t even know she had.  Like she had done for him.  

With one last lick against her hipbone, he got the ribbons free, eyeing the curve of her ass now visible.  Hungry to see her.  All of her.  

“Hurry, Oliver,” Felicity moaned, one hand stroking through the hair on the top of his head, her other hand fondling her breast.  

Oliver was more than ready to oblige.  Shifting his body, he leaned down towards her other hip.  But this time, instead of going slowly and softly, he took the ribbon and yanked, hard, putting his hand on the untied side to help hold her panties taut.  So the ribbon snapped, just as he planned.  

The groan that escaped Felicity was loud and deep and so primal, he had to grip the sheets under his hands in order to not take over.  

“Get rid of them.  Eat me out, Oliver–put your mouth all over my pussy, lick–suck–oooh …”  

It seemed like she was fighting for control.  Fighting to follow the rules.  With her rushed words and panting breaths, it was clear and obvious.  

He didn’t know what was going on in her mind, but she had asked him to go down on her and he was going to do it.  And he was going to try and give her the best orgasm from oral sex she had ever had.  

The best orgasm, period.  

Using his teeth, he tugged away her panties, letting his eyes roam over her.  The thin line of hair that outlined her sex was a pale brown, glistening even in the flickering light of the candles.  He felt his mouth water, actually water, as he gently spread her legs apart and saw the pink folds, saw how wet she was.  There was the slightest whiff of her body’s fragrance and Oliver licked his lips as he took her in.

Felicity had said nothing about using his hands on her, so all he did was slid his hands underneath her to cup and squeeze her ass–God, someday he hoped he could actually see her ass, uncovered and bared to him–and hold her in place as he covered her with his mouth.

And then his tongue slid over her and he was lost.  Unable to think strategically: it was all about responding to what Felicity moaned, to how her body moved.  He lapped at her slowly to start, tasting her juices, feeling them coat his chin as they kept gushing out of her.  He saw a small spot of dampness begin to form on the sheets and picked up his pace.  Because he didn’t want to let one drop of her essence go to waste.  Sliding his tongue deep inside her, he licked up every last bit of her, hearing her call out his name.

Nothing had ever felt like this.  Nothing had ever felt this good, this powerful.  Like he held the whole world in his hands.  Just because he was pleasuring this woman, this amazing, remarkable, beautiful, perfect woman.  Because he was making _Felicity_ writhe and moan against his mouth.  

When his lips brushed against her clit, she whimpered.  “There–there!”  

Gladly, Oliver pressed kisses to her, using his shoulders to spread her legs wider.  With her spread totally open for his eyes, he could see how hard and raised her clit was, looking like the button it was sometimes called.  And he wanted to press all her buttons and make her come.  Hard.  

He tried everything he knew, everything he thought of, as he focused on her clit.  Soft little flicks with the tip of his tongue, followed by gentle sucks.  Blowing on her before rubbing the flat of his tongue against her clit.  But what she seemed to like best was when he simply wrapped his lips around her and sucked, varying the speed and pressure.  And he wanted to give her what she wanted.  

Her hands were holding one of her legs under her knee, spreading it wide and giving him room, while the other hand was gripping his hair nearly to the point of pain.  When he started sucking harder and faster, her hips began snapping upwards–she was almost grinding against his face.  And she was panting, her breaths sounding like sobs.  

She was ready.  He didn’t want her to wait any longer.  So Oliver sucked even harder while humming against her clit, letting the vibrations travel through her body.  

Laying before her, looking up at her, he could fully take in the beauty of Felicity’s climax.  Last time, he had been trying to hold off his own release, distracted by his own body.  Now, he had almost forgotten that he was still unfulfilled, because he was too caught up in watching her.  

When she came, Felicity’s eyes closed, an expression of such fierce delight on her face.  Her body trembled under his mouth and hands, the tension in her muscles vanishing as she gave herself over to the pleasure.  And through it all, her lips were parted on the sexiest, breathiest, most uninhibited moan that Oliver had ever heard.  

This must be what it was like to see a star being born, he thought nonsensically as he watched her climax end.  She fell back on the bed, her hand loosening in his hair and her body utterly spent and relaxed, as far as he could tell.  

And then, his body could take the abuse no longer, and Oliver felt himself come in his jeans: a climax that was almost painful in its intensity, leaving him sticky and exhausted.  His eyes were heavy, sleep pressing down on him, leaving him operating on instinct.  That was the only way he could explain why he crawled up the bed and wrapped his arms around Felicity, drawing her against his chest as he fell asleep.  

XXX

With a start, Oliver’s eyes flew open and he looked around.  Everything remained as it was when he fell asleep: the candles were still flickering, although nearly burnt down.  The room was quiet, the sheets soft underneath him.  

The only thing that was different was that Felicity was curled in against him, one hand resting against his chest as she slept.

Looking down at her, Oliver felt his heart skip a beat.  Her lashes were long and dark against her cheeks, her lips were pursed in sleep, and her skin was smooth and unwrinkled.  She looked so … beautiful.  And young.

How had she ended up here?  She said she had done this for three years, but he could barely believe she was more than a year out of college.  Put her in a pair of jeans and a tank top, her hair in a ponytail, and she would have looked more like a SCU student than a dominatrix. 

The more time he spent with Felicity, the more that he wanted to know about her.  It was a toss-up which was stronger: his curiosity or his desire.  Because he hadn’t come in his pants since he was thirteen, when his cock was on such a hair trigger that anything even the slightest bit sexual could make him climax.

Swallowing, he moved slowly, carefully easing Felicity out of his arms to rest against the pillows on the bed.  It was inappropriate for him to have cuddled her like that.  It blurred the lines between them.  It was one thing for Felicity to joke about kissing him awake or to stroke his hair as he woke up–it was entirely different to treat Felicity like his teddy bear and curl up with her.  To act like this was a date or something.

He had come to Felicity to get help.  He needed to remember that.  Getting lost in her–in her body, in her smiles–wasn’t going to let him find ways to deal with his stress.  This needed to stay … professional.

Sliding off the bed, he tried to ignore how his jeans were glued to his crotch as he looked around the room.  There were two doors, besides the one through which they had entered the bedroom.  Without any indication which one was the bathroom he needed, Oliver just guessed and chose one of the doors.  

And then wished he had guessed right.  Because this was …

It was a closet.  And it was filled with the tools of Felicity’s trade.  Leather straps and whips, ropes and gags, all hung up in neat, organized rows.  He had expected to find something like this in Felicity’s closet.  And he felt a flicker of desire to see Felicity use these devices–a flicker he ruthlessly tamped down.  But it was the clothes that made his eyes widen.

More than just leather corsets and slinky black dresses, there were costumes.  Nurse, maid, Catholic schoolgirl and policewoman, complete with handcuffs.  And strangest of all, there were a handful of sleek, bright dresses: what he thought a young, professional woman might wear to work.  

What were they doing in this closet?  Oliver felt certain that Felicity must have another room, one where she slept and relaxed and was just her.  So if these dresses were part of her normal wardrobe, why were they here and not in that normal room’s closet?

“Oliver?”

“Oh,” he said, spinning around to look at her.  "Sorry–I wasn’t trying to–I was looking for the bathroom.“

Her smile was soft and understanding, like it always was.  The trembling Felicity who had asked him to stay was gone, as was the Felicity who had ordered him around like the dominant she was.  This was the Felicity he was used to, the one he knew how to react to.  The one who was here to help him.

"It’s over there,” she replied, gesturing towards the other door as she climbed off the bed.  She walked towards him, her naked body lit by the candles like something out of an art film.  She was so utterly mesmerizing that he couldn’t look away.

Felicity went up on her toes and kissed his chin.  His head dipped down and their lips met in a soft kiss.  It felt familiar, safe.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her hands resting lightly at his waist, her thumbs stroking oh-so-lightly over his V-cuts.

“Umm … sticky,” he replied without thinking.

“Sticky?” she asked, her forehead creasing in confusion.

Oliver felt his cheeks heat.  "Yeah.  At the end, after you …“

"Came really hard?” Felicity asked, giving him a small smirk of a smile.

An answering smile stretched his lips into a curve as he nodded.  "Yeah.  After you came, I did, too.“

One of her eyebrows raised, her eyes probing his for a moment, and then she kissed him lightly.  "Then let’s take care of you.”

She wrapped her fingers around his hand, leading him towards the bathroom.  It was a large room, done in cream and gold, with a massive soaking tub and a steam shower.  Felicity opened a door to reveal a compact washer/dryer unit.

“That’s not standard in most hotel rooms,” Oliver commented, with a lifetime of staying in swanky hotel rooms under his belt.

“I know,” Felicity said, giving his hand a squeeze before letting it go, her hands going to his abs.  "But with the things I have to clean up, I prefer to wash them myself.  And the Starling Grand was very accommodating of my request.“

Nodding, Oliver gazed at her.  Something felt different between them, making them need to work to return to their old roles.  Or at least he was, as he tried to put Felicity back behind that line which separated her from the rest of his life.  Returning her to the place where she was like a vacation.  Because on vacation, you could be a different person, but when you went back home, you were yourself again.  

"I bet they were,” he said, watching as Felicity began carefully unzipping his jeans.

She gave him a quick smile as she chuckled.  "Are you implying something, Mr. Queen?“

"No, I just think that if you–”. Oliver cut himself off, biting back what he was going to say: that if she had asked him for anything, he would give it to her, and he bet he wasn’t the only person who felt that way about Felicity.

“I think you get what you want,” he said quickly, then winced as she peeled off his jeans, the dried cum yanking on his pubic hair.  “Ouch!”

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, her fingers soothing away the sting.  She kneeled at his feet, pulling his jeans down.  He stepped out of the pants and Felicity tossed the jeans in the washer, starting it running with her competent fingers. Then she turned and smiled at him.  "Shower or tub?“

On impulse, he replied "Tub.”  Even with the size of the bath, there was no way they could have sex in it.  And right now, he needed to have less-intimate interactions with Felicity.  

“Perfect,” she says, her eyes lighting up.  Leaving Oliver wondering, as she walked over to the tub and started filling it, if he was making a mistake.  Because sex was intimate, yes–but everything with Felicity felt intimate.

A fact that hit home once they were both soaking in the hot water, his body stretched out the full length of the tub and Felicity resting with her back against his chest.  Because with his arms around her, feeling her slick skin against his, it felt like there was no one else in the world but them.

“So what did you think about tonight?  About our experiment?” she asked, her hands stroking over his arms.

What did he think?  Oliver took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts.  It seemed like days ago that he had been laying face-down on the bed, having Felicity touch him according to his direction.  Feeling a panic attack come on and having to stop her.  And then there was the second half of the night, with Felicity being the one to lead him until she came apart under his mouth.

Felicity didn’t say anything, just kept her hands moving over his arms.  The surface of the water rippled with their small movements, slapping softly against the sides of the bath.  The bathroom’s lights were turned down low, a single candle burning that gave off the rich scent of tropical flowers.  

He felt completely comfortable.  Comfortable enough to be completely honest with her.  “I think I did better at being a submissive.”  

“There’s no better or worse in this, Oliver,” Felicity told him softly, leaning her head back against his shoulder and looking up at him.  “It’s using different parts of yourself.  Some of those sides of your personality, your soul, are easier to access.  You’ve had practice, so you can do something automatically.”  

“Like give you exactly what you wanted, because I’m used to doing that,” he said slowly, seeking confirmation.  

She nodded and pressed her lips lightly against his jaw.  “Right.  How did you feel, when I was telling you what to do?”  

Oliver felt himself smile–a sheepish, embarrassed smile.  “I was fine with that.  Although it might have more to do with what you were telling me to do.”  

Felicity’s shoulders shook as she laughed, her nose wrinkling.  “You don’t say.” 

Shrugging one shoulder, he kept smiling at her.  “I feel like you wanted to see if I was all talk.”  

“I’ll never tell,” Felicity said airily, before she grinned at him.  “But you are definitely so far from being just talk.”  

He kissed her temple and tightened his arms around her a little.  Feeling a warm bubble of happiness inside his chest at her praise.  Yeah, it was about skills he had acquired while he was busy being Ollie Queen, Biggest Douchebag in the World, but there wasn’t a shred of judgement in her voice.  Of censure or accusation.  Which was … freeing, in a way.

“The real test will come when I’m telling you to do something you don’t want to do,” Felicity explained, growing serious.  “When I’m butting up against something you strongly dislike, or asking you to go against your moral code.”

“Not anything illegal,” she added quickly, her eyes meeting his.  “But I will need to push you, so you can see that being submissive isn’t always for the best.”  

Frowning, he looked at her.  “So I’ll want to become the dominant one?”

“When you need to be.”  Shifting in his arms, with her side against his chest, Felicity looked at him.  “I think we–people, I mean–are best when we’re in touch with both our dominant and submissive sides.  It’s a bit unorthodox, but I believe it works.  I think it would help you, Oliver.”

Once again, she gave him time to think, to reflect.  After a few moments, she began pressing soft kisses along his jaw, moving down his neck.  “Okay?” she asked softly.  

“Okay,” he whispered in reply.  

She smiled at him and wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.  It was slow and soft and slightly awkward with their positions, but that didn’t matter.  He still felt that same warmth and contentment spread through him at the touch of her lips.  

The kiss ended gradually, with Felicity nuzzling him and pulling away with a sigh.  “Okay, before we get carried away, I did want to ask you about earlier.  When you used the safe word.”  

“I … I thought we covered that,” Oliver asked slowly, craning his neck back so he could really look at her.  

Her face was neutral, her eyes full of caring and support.  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.  That you didn’t feel any negative emotions about using the safe word.  Because like I said, it’s good that you used it, Oliver.  That you reached your limit and respected it, instead of trying to ignore what you were feeling.”  

Now that some time had elapsed, allowing the emotions to fade slightly, Oliver could see the wisdom in her words.  He didn’t know if he fully believed her yet, but at least he trusted her to be telling him what she really thought.  

“I’m getting there,” was what he finally settled on.  Felicity nodded and pecked his lips.

“What did you think about being in charge?” she asked, moving to put her back against his chest again.  

He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, breathing in slowly.  “It was different,” he said.  “I mean … I grew up being used to getting my way.”

“Because you were Oliver Queen, heir to billions?”  

Chuckling softly, he looked down at her to see her smiling.  “Yeah, something like that.”  

“But it was different, what we did, because …?” Felicity asked, her voice trailing off as she waited for his answer.  

“Because you weren’t doing it for my name or my money,” Oliver remarked, ignoring that fact that she was sort of doing it for his money.  “You did what I told you to do, because that was what you wanted.”  

Felicity stroked his arms slowly.  “I guess you grew up with a lot of talk about doing your duty, fulfilling your responsibilities, right?”  

“I did,” Oliver said, turning his head to lightly kiss her neck.  “I didn’t listen.”  

“I think you did, though,” she replied, tilting her head to allow him free access.  “I think you internalized it a lot, so when your father gave you only two choices–become the man he wanted you to be or be totally cut off–all that training finally asserted itself.  But to correct your behavior, your pendulum swung too far in the other direction.  You need to find a middle ground.  That’s why I’m here.”  

“Here?  In this bathtub, with me?” he asked, rubbing his hands against her stomach, under the water.  

Felicity giggled.  “Oliver … stay on topic.”  

“I am,” he said, holding her still as he slowly rolled his hips, pressing his cock against her ass.  “Here is my pendulum.”  

She laughed harder and twisted in his arms, pushing his face away from her neck.  “I’m serious right now,” she told him, the smile on her face wide and bright and completely at odds with her words.  

Cupping her face in his hands, Oliver leaned in and kissed her slowly, sweetly.  His eyes slid shut as he tasted her, savoring this moment.  He knew he would have to leave soon, to go back to his real life.  He would have to manage the pressures he carried, to be a good son and brother and friend, to do his part to serve Queen Consolidated and Starling City.

But with Felicity, he could just be Oliver.  And it was like pressing pause on his life, so when he had to push play, he could handle things better.  

Someday, this would end.  Either because he didn’t need her anymore or because she would leave Starling City.  But until that day came, he was going to take advantage of his time with Felicity.  

Someday he might not need her anymore.  But there was a whisper in Oliver’s mind that he would always want Felicity.  

Felicity’s hands roamed over his chest and abs as they kissed.  “Let’s take care of you,” she muttered against his lips, echoing her earlier statement, before she slid her hand down to wrap around his cock.  

Breaking the kiss, Oliver sighed, gazing up at her.  “Yes …”  

“I’ve got you,” Felicity said, her eyes so bright and blue.  “I’ve got you, Oliver.”  

Leaning back against the tub, Oliver watched her face as she jerked him off, as she told him how good he felt, how strong and powerful he was, how he had so many good things ahead of him.  And once again, he wasn’t sure if he believed her all the way.  But he believed that she meant it.  

And knowing that someone believed in him that much made everything better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some feedback that makes me want to reiterate that this isn’t your traditional BDSM fic. I’m choosing to write what I’m interested in writing, exploring Oliver and Felicity in a new way while keeping their characterizations in mind. If you’d like to discuss this with me, you’re welcome to go to my Tumblr and [drop me an ask](http://dettiot.tumblr.com/ask), so we can talk privately. If you don’t have a Tumblr, you can send your comments to me anonymously there and I will read them, but I will not respond since I could only do so publicly with anon asks. Thank you!
> 
> Thanks for all the support this story has already received, and to FanMomMer for reading over this chapter for me.

With a spring in his step, Oliver walked down the stairs of his home one Friday morning.  He was thumbing through the emails on his phone, checking today’s schedule which his assistant had sent him, when his mother’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Oliver, you’re looking almost chipper this morning.”  

Looking up from his phone, he gave Moira Queen a smile.  “Good morning, Mom.”  He brushed a light kiss over her cheek.  “You look beautiful, as always.”  

Moira’s eyebrows raised slightly.  “Make that definitely chipper,” she commented.  “Good.”  

“Good?” he asked, slipping his phone into the pocket of his suit coat.

“Yes, of course it’s good to see my only son looking happy,” Moira said, lifting her chin.  “It has been a rare occurrence until recently.”  

Tilting his head to one side, Oliver took in his mother.  Dressed in a sleek navy dress, not a hair out of place and her makeup perfectly applied, Moira Queen’s appearance fit her position in life: a woman of society, a woman with knowledge and power and skills.  Yet she was also his mom--the woman who had fought for him, who had served as a buffer between Oliver and his father.  The person who had always seen his potential and encouraged him to live up to it.  

It was a privilege to have Moira Queen in your corner.  But it was also a responsibility.  One that Oliver knew to be a heavy one.  After so many years of disappointing her, he had resolved, when he had chosen to start working for Queen Consolidated, that he wouldn’t let her down anymore.  Especially not after the heartbreak of Robert Queen’s untimely death.  But he was beginning to realize that he needed to strike a middle ground between not disappointing her and being his own man.  

“Thanks, Mom,” he finally said, resting a hand on her shoulder.  

“That’s all a mother wants: her children to be happy,” Moira continued, giving him a pleasant smile.

And there it was, he thought to himself with a smile.  She was clearly angling to ask him for a favor--he was too familiar with her ways to miss the strategy.

“What do you want, Mom?” he asked, letting his voice sound amused.  

“My new assistant is still learning the ropes, and she double-booked me on Sunday night: I’m supposed to appear at the Starling Opera’s gala performance of  _La Bohème_ , as well as present an award during the Glades Rehabilitation Network’s annual ceremony,” Moira said, a flicker of annoyance flashing across her face.

If the annoyance was for her assistant, Oliver felt for the woman, whoever she was.  “Do you want me to represent you at one of these events?” he requested, silently begging that she not ask him to attend the opera.  

“You’re not already busy that night?” she asked, her voice hopeful.  “Because I was truly excited about this production of  _La Bohème_  and I would hate to miss it . . .”

_Thank God_ , Oliver thought.  “Have your assistant send mine the details about the awards ceremony, and call the GRN so they know they’re getting the lesser Queen.”  

“Oh, Oliver,” his mother said, resting her hand on his chest.  “You are not less than anyone.  I know I don’t say this often enough, but I am so proud of you.”  Moira paused, searching his face.  “You do know that, yes?”  

Ducking his head a little, Oliver felt a flush of warmth.  During dozens of cocktail parties, the phrase ‘your mother must be so proud of you’ had been tossed off.  And Oliver always smiled and nodded and accepted the compliment.  But hearing his mother say the words . . . it felt different.  Better.  

Intellectually he knew his mother had always been proud of him, even when he was nothing but a frat boy.  It had taken him years to feel like he deserved his mother’s pride.  And he didn’t want to lose that, even if he couldn’t accommodate her as readily as he once did.  Not that it was a problem this time.    

“I know, Mom,” he said, wrapping his arms around her for a hug.  There was the briefest stiffness in her, like she was surprised, and then she hugged him back.  

“You should make a night of it, you and Helena,” Moira said as she pulled back.  “There are some lovely restaurants in the Glades now.  Really, the GRN has done fantastic work.”  

Pressing his lips together at the mention of Helena, Oliver nodded and stepped back.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  I need to get to the office--is there anything else, Mom?”  

“No--have a good day, sweetheart,” Moira said, smiling at him as he turned towards the door.  

Oliver stepped out of the mansion, his spirits somewhat dimmed, and nodded to his driver.  Climbing into the back of the Bentley, he buckled his seatbelt and then, instead of continuing to go over his schedule and prepare for his day, he gazed out the window.  

The thought of Helena unsettled him.  Because he knew the last thing he wanted to do with her was to ‘make a night of it’ as his mother had suggested.  In the last few months, Moira had begun hinting that he should consider his future--and should make Helena be a part of that future.  

When he started dating Helena, it had been a matter of convenience.  They knew each other, thanks to years of being part of Starling City society.  So he hadn’t needed to explain the accident or Laurel.  And she hadn’t needed to talk about Michael, the fiancé that had been killed in a mob hit gone wrong.  They each had parts of their lives into which they weren’t willing to let anyone, and they accepted that about each other.  

So they dated.  They attended galas together, went to family dinners with each other, and had sex.  It was an arrangement that worked for them.  It kept up appearances.  

But Oliver had always known, deep down, that at some point their arrangement would run its course and they would break up.  Because he didn’t love Helena enough to marry her.  And he had no desire to repeat his father’s mistakes.  Although the mistake his father had made hadn’t been cheating on his loveless marriage: it had been cheating even though he loved his wife.  

He wasn’t sure which was worse, but he didn’t want that for himself.  But he also hadn’t known how to end things with Helena, so Oliver had been content to drift along, maintaining the status quo.

Until Felicity.  

The thought of her made his lips quirk up, something he could see from the translucent reflection of himself in the car window.  It had been just over a month since their first session together, and Oliver could tell that he was getting better.  In the last two weeks alone, he had slept better than he had in years.  And while he still had moments of panic, they were becoming more manageable--mostly because he was learning what his limits were.  Discovering how much he could take before he cracked, and leaving some room before he bumped up against that boundary.  Realizing the difference between coping and breaking.  

And it was all thanks to Felicity.  Her soft words, her bottomless eyes, her amazing mouth.  She made him feel--

Wait.   _Sunday_?  

Barely holding back a groan, Oliver let his head fall back against the leather seat.  How could he have forgotten?  Sunday nights had become so critical to his progress.  He usually went to Felicity’s suite early, after dinner with his mother or Thea.  And with so many hours ahead of them, it helped him start the week off right.  Let him get lost in her.  

But now with that awards ceremony he would have to attend, they’d have less time.  

He could feel his shoulders hunching, the pressure of two conflicting desires weighing on him.  Squeezing his eyes shut, Oliver took a few deep breaths.  When those weren’t enough, and even though it made him feel like an idiot, he did the bunny breath that Felicity had taught him: three quick inhales through his nose and then one long exhale from his mouth.  

It helped--usually because he felt so silly, his mind couldn’t worry about anything other than how ridiculous he felt.  This time was no different: as soon as he completed the bunny breath, he felt how the knot in his chest had loosened.  

This sucked, but it wasn’t like he was losing his entire night with Felicity.  Just part of it.  Idly, he wondered if she might feel disappointed like he was.  

Which was crazy.  Because Felicity was only his--

His what?  His therapist with whom he happened to have amazing, soul-restoring sex?  His mistress and the only woman he could talk to, the only woman with whom he could be himself?  His dominatrix who helped him let go and made him feel so good?

Rubbing a hand over his face, Oliver saw that they were at Queen Consolidated.  Using all of his self-control, he carefully pushed Felicity into the corner of his mind he had allocated for her, the one where his wants and desires seemed to reside.  Doing his best to keep himself from thinking of her throughout his day.  

But with no happy anticipation of a full evening with Felicity on Sunday night, Oliver’s Friday went very, very slowly, even with the full slate of meetings on his schedule.  And he knew the rest of his weekend would drag until he could talk to Felicity.

So halfway through his day, during the only break he had, Oliver sent Felicity a text and asked her to call him between eight and nine that night.  And when he got her reply, saying she would call him at eight, Oliver felt a rush of emotion that just felt . . . good.

XXX

Halfway through yet another boring dinner party, Oliver excused himself from the table.  Helena looked up at him, her eyebrows pulled together in an expression of vague confusion and worry.  Pasting on a smile, he kissed her cheek and whispered, “Sorry, business.  I’ll be right back.”  

Helena had nodded, her face smoothing back into pleasant prettiness.  He supposed most men would find Helena striking, with her pale skin, jet-black hair and red-painted lips.  Like a living Snow White.  But lately, he hadn’t really noticed her appearance.  Hadn’t noticed much about her, he admitted to himself with a flash of guilt.  

This was something he would have to figure out.  But first--  

With long strides, he walked into the foyer of the Bowen house and paused, considering whether he should step outside entirely.  But then his phone began vibrating in his hand and Oliver quickly answered it.  

“Hello?”  

“Hi,” said Felicity warmly.  “I’ve got ten minutes and I hope I’m not interrupting something important, like some mega-merger with China.  I know you said this was the best time to call you, but things change.”  

Unable to help himself, Oliver smiled as he ducked his head.  “No, I’m at dinner.  A dinner party, in fact.  I just stepped away so I could talk to you.”  

“Lucky me,” she purred, making his body twitch.  “We don’t talk on the phone very much.”  

“No . . .” he said around a swallow.  “It didn’t seem wise.  But I wanted to let you know I have a thing on Sunday night now.”  

There was a momentary pause, a hesitation before Felicity replied.  “Oh.  That’s too bad.  Did you want to reschedule?”  

“No, no, I don’t want to reschedule,” Oliver said quickly.  “I just won’t be there until nine-thirty or so.”  

“Oh!”  This time, her voice sounded more upbeat.  “Okay.  That’s fine, Oliver.  You could have just texted me that.”  

“I know . . .” he answered, his voice trailing off.  As he realized why he had wanted her to call him.

He had wanted to hear her voice.  Wanted to hear that lilt when she was reassuring him, the way her tone softened when she was worried, the sound of her laughter.    

“Oliver?”  

Felicity’s voice was equal parts amused and concerned.  “Still with me, big guy?” she asked.  

“Yes--yes, I am.  Sorry, just got lost in my head,” he explained quickly.

“You do that a lot,” she said, affection clear in her words.  Or maybe it was something he was imagining.  “You should get back to your party, Oliver.”  

Taking a deep breath, he nodded.  “I know.  I’ll see you Sunday.”  

“See you then,” she replied.  “Bye.”  

Before he had a chance to say anything more, Felicity had hung up.  It hadn’t really been enough for him, but it was all he would get.  

Sliding his phone into his pocket, he turned to head back to the dining room.  But the ringing doorbell made him pause, feeling surprised when he saw Tommy step into the foyer.  “Tommy!  I didn’t know you were coming to this,” Oliver said, taking a moment to pat his best friend on the shoulder.

“Hey, buddy,” he replied, his smile wide.  “Yeah, I’m late but, for once, it was actually because of  work.  You’re looking good.”  

“You, too, Tommy,” Oliver said, smiling back at Tommy’s characteristic cheerfulness.  “I’m feeling good.”  

“Thanks to Felicity, right?” Tommy asked, his head tilting to the side as his smile became a knowing smirk.

What the hell?  Oliver looked around the foyer wildly.  “Tommy!  You can’t just ask me that.”  

Tommy’s forehead wrinkled.  “Why not?  I mean, it’s the truth, right?  ‘Cause, Ollie, you’re like a different man.  I had no idea she would do so much for you with just one night--if I had, I woulda give you her number a month earlier, when I first found out about her.”  

Thanks to their crowded schedules--and to Oliver’s desire to not think too deeply about Felicity, let alone talk about her--Tommy had no idea that Oliver had been seeing Felicity regularly.  And Oliver didn’t want to tell him.  Not here, not now.  

Lowering his voice, Oliver leaned close to Tommy.  “I don’t want to talk about this here, Tommy.  Not with Helena so close.”  

“Helena doesn’t know?  Wait, of course she doesn’t know--but you don’t want her to know?  Why would it matter all that much if you spent one night with a--well, you know.” Tommy asked, pitching his voice lower.  “Oliver . . .”

The warning in Tommy’s voice was unmistakable.  They had both grown up being taught about the dangers of women who looked at them and saw dollar signs.  “Pay for sex if you want, but for God’s sake be careful and be discreet--especially if you’re already involved with another woman,” had been his father’s advice to Oliver.  And to Tommy, too, since he had practically been a son to Robert Queen, too.

For a moment, Oliver felt a spike of anger at Tommy attempting to interfere.  But then Felicity’s words, from their first session, went through his mind.  About how few men would care enough about a friend to pay her just to talk.  

What he had with Felicity had gone well past a simple business transaction, though.  And Tommy deserved to know that, since he was the one to make this happen.  If it wasn’t for Tommy’s intervention . . . he would be in bad shape.

“Are you free tomorrow?” Oliver asked quickly.  “Let’s get a drink and I’ll . . . I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

Tommy looked at him for a long moment, confusion and worry and a sliver of doubt in his face.  But he nodded slowly.  “Sure, Ollie.  We can do it at Verdant and kill two birds with one stone--we haven’t spent much time there lately.”  

“You’re right,” Oliver agreed, nostalgia going through him at the thought of their first business venture.  Verdant had been the way Oliver and Tommy had rebelled against their fathers: instead of working for Queen Consolidated and Merlyn Global, they opened a nightclub in the heart of the Glades, when the area was still considered dangerous.  It had been perfect for two shiftless billionaires, making money by doing something they were very good at--partying.  That had been six years ago, and somehow Verdant was going strong, thanks to their very capable manager.  But since both of them now worked at their family companies, Verdant was a lesser priority for both of them.  

“Around seven, then?” Tommy asked, falling into step with him as Oliver walked towards the dining room.  

“Sounds great,” Oliver said, stepping into the dining room and seeing, to his surprise, that Helena’s chair was empty.  

When he took his seat, he leaned over towards the woman who had been seated on his left, whose name he couldn’t remember at all.

“Excuse me, but did you see where my girlfriend, Helena, went?”  

The woman looked over at the empty chair beside him and shook her head.  “I’d guess the bathroom, but no, I didn’t hear.”  

Oliver nodded his thanks before taking a sip from his water.  It made sense, and when Helena walked back into the room a moment later, he felt relieved.  And didn’t understand why.

XXX

As he dressed for the awards ceremony, not even the thought of seeing Felicity later was enough to lift Oliver’s spirits.  Because thinking about her also made him think about yesterday’s conversation with Tommy.

His best friend had been shocked at learning Oliver was seeing Felicity on a regular basis.  “What are you doing, man?  You’ve got Helena!  I didn’t think you were that kinky that you needed to get tied up and whipped twice a week.” 

“It’s not like that,” Oliver had told him, his hand gripping his tumbler of Scotch.  “She’s never even done anything like that to me.”  

Tommy had looked utterly confused.  “Felicity is a beautiful woman, but--c’mon, Ollie.  How do you think this is gonna end?  I’ll tell you: messy.  Really messy.  Helena may seem all quiet, but there’s something about her that says ‘bunny boiler’.”  

Oliver’s anger had risen at Tommy’s words.  “I’m the one that’s been dating her for a year and a half.  I know her and Helena isn’t like that at all.  She’s no Carrie Cutter.”  

At least they both agreed on that, Oliver had thought to himself, as a shudder went over Tommy as his mention of the possessive, psychotic redhead that was well-known among the men of Starling City’s elite.  

But then Tommy had shaken his head before tossing back the last of his whisky.  “Even if she’s not like that, this could all blow up in your face.”

“It’s not gonna, Tommy.  Look, with Felicity--I’m finally dealing with things,” Oliver had argued.  “Finding ways to cope with my stress, learning how to be my own man.  A bit of Ollie, a bit of Oliver,” he had finished, quoting Thea’s words.  

Just like he had hoped, that had taken some of the anger out of Tommy.  But the look he leveled at Oliver was long enough and probing enough that he felt a flicker of worry.  Because what if Tommy decided to take matters into his own hands?  By approaching Helena and telling her what was going on?  Or threatening Felicity?  Which was entirely paranoid, Oliver had told himself.  Tommy wouldn’t do that to him.  

But thankfully, Tommy had let out a sigh and nodded.  “Okay.  You’re gonna do what you want to do--you’re so damn stubborn.  But I’m still worried about this.  And honestly, if you’re seeing Felicity on the regular, just break up with Helena.  Take her out of this--because it’s a lot easier to deal with your ex seeing a dominatrix while you were together, than dealing with your boyfriend seeing a dominatrix.”  

“I’m working on it,” Oliver had promised Tommy.  And he meant it: his thoughts and reactions over the last few days had proven that even as a matter of convenience, his relationship with Helena wasn’t working.  It would be better if they broke up now, since the engagement rumors had lost some steam with their lack of shared public appearances.  If they broke up now, it could be spun as an amicable break-up due to growing apart.  

This week, he told himself.  Even though he regretted the thought of hurting Helena, he couldn’t keep lying to her like this anymore.  

His newfound resolve was enough to get him to the elegant supper club on the edge of the Glades, the location of the GRN awards ceremony.  When his car pulled up, Oliver felt a wisp of surprise.  There was a lot of press here for a smaller event--he wondered if another Starling City celebrity was making an appearance tonight.  Because he hadn’t seen so many flashes since back in his Ollie days.  

Stepping out of the car, Oliver put on as friendly a smile as possible, walking past the lines of photographers and reporters.  The cameras’ flash bulbs went off and questions were shouted at him, but Oliver ignored them, just nodding and smiling as he approached the door.  

There, in the prime position right by the front doors of the club, was Bethany Snow of Channel 52 News.  The same Bethany Snow that Oliver, unfortunately, owed a favor to, thanks to her sympathetic coverage of Thea after his sister’s latest scrape with the law.  So Oliver knew he had to stop and give her a minute.  

“Oliver Queen, as I live and breathe,” Bethany said with a wide, plastic smile.  

“Bethany, always good to see you,” Oliver replied, playing the game like he had been trained to do.  “I don’t want to be late, but I bet you have a question for me.”  

“You know me too well,” she answered.  “Can you speak about why you’re here?”  

Thanks to the email from his mother’s assistant, Oliver was ready with his prepared answer, sharing how impressed he was with the Glades Rehabilitation Network’s work and how happy he was to be presenting an award tonight to a real Starling City hero, an award named in honor of his father.  

Bethany nodded and smiled and simpered, just like he knew she would.  He was taking a step to go inside, when her hand on his arm drew him up short.  But not as much as her question did.

“For several months, speculation has been rampant that you and Helena Bertinelli might be on the way to the altar, but we haven’t seen you out and about together for a few weeks.  Should the ladies of Starling get ready to start soothing your heartbreak?”  

There was something in Bethany’s eyes.  A glint that said this question wasn’t just a fishing expedition.  She knew something.  But how could she know-- _what_  did she know?

Did she know about Felicity?

It was only due to all his years of speaking to the press that Oliver was able to keep his face neutral.  To not reveal what he was thinking.  

“Unfortunately for the women of Starling City, there’s no heartbreak,” Oliver replied, trying to sound amused.  “Helena and I remain together; thanks to the merger with Unidac Industries and our plan to hire a thousand new workers here in the Glades, Queen Consolidated has taken up a lot of my free time.  That’s all.”  

Her smile stayed in place, but Oliver could still see that something in Bethany’s eyes.  Even when she turned to the camera and said cheerfully, “You heard it here first, Starling City!  Oliver Queen, putting business before pleasure.  Who would have thought we’d see that, huh?”  

Knowing that the interview was over, Oliver couldn’t help letting his distaste show.  It had been five years since he began serving as CEO.  He had gotten off to a rocky start, yes, but shouldn’t the press have buried that playboy image of him by now?  Why couldn’t they see him as who he really was?  

“If you’ll excuse me, Bethany, I need to get inside.  Lovely to see you, as ever,” Oliver lied, extricating himself from her and walking quickly into the building.  

His bad mood from earlier in the evening returned with a vengeance.  Although he wasn’t required to stay for the whole ceremony, the event was running behind.  Which meant a wait of twenty minutes before it was time for him to present the Robert Queen Humanitarian Award.    

And in that twenty minutes, Oliver’s mind churned through a wealth of worst-case scenarios, each one more bleak and damaging than the last.  

Yes, he could have imagined that look in Bethany’s eyes and the way her question seemed like a trap.  It could have just been an innocent request to know why he and Helena hadn’t been seen together much lately.  

But reporters were like a dog with a bone: once they thought they had a story, they were going to chase it down, no matter what.  And it was never just one reporter with an idea, at least not in Oliver’s experience.  If one had it, there were others who just hadn’t had the chance to ask about it yet.  

Without knowing what idea they had, though, it felt impossible to plan.  If all they thought was simply that his relationship with Helena was over, announcing their break-up would be enough to satisfy them.  But if they knew more . . . if they knew about his meetings with Felicity--

The press would attack him.  Not just himself, either--they would go after his family, the company . . .

And they would utterly destroy Felicity.

The very thought was enough to make Oliver’s breath catch in his throat, making any past feeling of guilt to be dwarfed by this new onslaught of emotion.  Because the thought of anything happening to Felicity--it made him angry.  So incredibly angry, and determined to keep her safe.  To keep her protected.

He wanted to be with her, right now.  Just to know that she was all right.  But he was stuck in this stuffy room, waiting to give an award that had the most ironic name ever, and he couldn’t leave.  

Was it any wonder the panic appeared, when he had been doing so well?  That his heart felt like it was pounding out of his chest, his brow growing sweaty?  

Yet he was better-prepared now.  With ruthless application of the techniques that Felicity had taught him, Oliver managed to head off the panic, refocus it back into his anger.  He didn’t have the time to freak out.  Being mad let him channel the fear and worry and stress into something else.  

It made him feel like someone else.  

“Mr. Queen?  I apologize for the delay--we’re ready for you now.”  The soft-spoken event planner interrupted his thoughts, but he was ready to give out this award and get the hell out of this place.

And get to Felicity.  

XXX

By the time he was knocking on the door to Felicity’s suite, just after ten p.m., Oliver’s anger had gone from a raging fire to something somewhat restrained--but infinitely more dangerous.  Because it wasn’t out-of-control and overwhelming.  No, now his emotions were a controlled, structured, single desire.  

To bury himself in Felicity.  To find release and let go of all these destructive emotions, in the only way he knew how.  

When she opened the door, for the first time all night, he felt like everything was okay.  She looked beautiful, with her wavy blonde hair and eyes the color of the sea.  Eyes that he wanted to get lost in.  Her body was wrapped in a thin, silky robe, all red and black and gold.  The material molded to her form, showing the curves he had run his hands and his mouth over.  

Just like he would tonight.  

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said as he stepped past her into the suite, hearing how hard his voice was.  It made him feel frustrated.  Because Felicity would immediately realize how out-of-character this was for him, and she would want to talk.  

And talking was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Okay . . .” she said slowly, closing the door behind him before leaning back against it.  Oliver could feel her eyes on him as he walked over to pour himself a drink.  He tossed back some Scotch, then let out a breath.  

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, making sure to soften his voice.  “I’ve had a crappy weekend.”  

There was a brief silence, and then Felicity spoke.  “When I have a crappy day or weekend or week, I just want to forget it.  So how do you want to forget it?”

Oliver found his lips quirking up, even as his anger kept simmering.  Because of course Felicity, with her insight into him, would hit upon just what he wanted to do.  

Turning his head, he looked at her.  Letting his eyes trail over her body, lingering on her lips and breasts and hips.  Her eyes looked confused for a split-second, before they widened with awareness and anticipation.  

With slow, deliberate movements, he set his glass on the bar cart and began walking towards her.  No-- _stalking_  towards her.  Asserting himself, making it clear that he wanted her.  And that he was going to have her.  

“You don’t have anything on under that robe, do you?”  He had never heard his voice so low and dark.  It fit with the mood.  And it had an effect on Felicity, with the way she licked her lips and then shook her head.  

“Show me.”  

He knew this wasn’t like him.  They had attempted a few more experiments with him being dominant, trying role plays and the like, but none of those attempts had let him really tap into that side of him.  Not like he was doing right now, effortlessly.  Born out of his anger and frustration.  

As long as he maintained his control, he thought it would be okay.  To keep going with what he was doing, with what was happening between them.  By this point, he and Felicity didn’t need to be so obvious in setting the ground rules.  He knew if she said ‘orange,’ he would have to stop.  And he would stop, immediately.  

But until then, he was going to go with this.  With how he felt, with the ideas that were coming together in his mind.  

Felicity’s fingers moved slowly, running down the front of her robe starting at the neckline, between her breasts and to the sash tied snugly around her slim waist.  She played with the fabric, her eyes locked on his.  

“Now, Felicity,” he said, coming to a stop two feet from her.  So he could have the full impact when she revealed herself to him.  

Her chin went up, but she didn’t look away from him.  And neither did he, even as she undid the sash, the robe parting and showing a strip of her creamy skin.  Her fingers once again stroked the center of her torso, reversing their earlier path until her hands reached her neck.  Then, she slowly lowered the robe from her shoulders, inch by maddening inch.  

“Felicity,” Oliver growled--he honest-to-God  _growled_ , and if she wasn’t turning him on so much, he would be impressed with her control and admiring of how she stood up to him.  But right now, he wanted her to do what he said.  And he wanted her to be naked.

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly, dropping the robe to the floor and showing him herself.  Showing him her perfect, exquisite body.  

The body he was going to have tonight.  

“Play with your breasts,” he ordered, knowing how important her nipples were to getting her ready for him.  “Work your tits, Felicity.”  

The crude term made her eyes spark, and Oliver smiled slowly.  “Do you like it when I talk dirty to you?”  

She nodded, her fingers twisting her nipples to hard, erect points.  “Yes,” she said, her face already flushing.  

Oliver nodded, letting his eyes drop from her face to watch her hands.  Feeling his cock harden to readiness in his trousers.  He didn’t bother with undressing himself, only sliding off his tux jacket and tossing it behind him.  

“Oh,” Felicity breathed out, her eyes roaming over him.  “Suspenders.”  

“They’re how I hold my pants up, Felicity,” he said, teasing with her, bantering like he had never done before.  “Do you like them?”  

Her hands moved even faster as she nodded.  “Yes--I want to grab them and hold on to them when you--”

“Stop touching yourself,” Oliver interrupted.  Reminding her that he was the one in control here.  Needing to be the one in control.  

Felicity’s hands spasmed against her breasts, but she pulled them away quickly, beginning to breath hard.  

With how well he knew her body, he knew having to stop touching herself was painful pleasure for Felicity.  He could see it, in her deep pants, her hands pressed back against the door, her legs squeezed together.  

“Spread your legs,” he told her, eliminating one method of keeping herself under control.  Her head dropped back against the door as she stepped her feet apart.  He had edged closer to her and he could smell her.  It was his favorite perfume, his favorite aroma.  

“You’ll get to play with my suspenders all you want, Felicity,” he promised her, holding her eyes with his.  “But first, I need this.”  

“Yes, Oliver,” she said, her voice high-pitched.  Her eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, but he could also see a surge of pride there.  Because he was doing what she had wanted him to do: take what he needed, be the one to set the pace and control the situation.  

It was strange and new, a little bit intoxicating and kind of scary.  But none of that mattered now, not with Felicity wet and waiting for him.  Not with him hard and aching for her.  

Moving his hands slowly, he unbuttoned his tuxedo trousers, then lowered the zipper, keeping his fingers from brushing against his cock.  He spread the sides of his pants wide, watching Felicity’s eyes dart to the cloth-covered bulge.  Then she licked her lips, and Oliver felt and saw his cock jump.  

With rough hands, he pushed his boxer briefs down, letting himself spring free.  The cool air moved over his cock, making him fumble as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and a condom.  

Felicity stayed silent, except for her loud breaths, as he rolled the condom over himself.  And for a moment, as their eyes met, Oliver knew that no matter what, he was going to keep her safe.  Regardless of what might happen to him, he would not let her be ruined just because of him.

And then, he stepped forward and bent down, his hands underneath her ass, lifting her and sliding into her with one movement.  

“Oliver,” Felicity moaned, drawing out his name and making him clutch her even tighter.  Her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands gripped his suspenders tightly.  So tightly that he could feel his clothing rub against the bottom of his cock, drawn upwards by her taking up the slack in the suspenders, as he began thrusting into her.  

“You feel so amazing,” he said softly into her ear.  “So warm and soft . . . love being inside you . . .”  

Rotating his hips, he drove deeper into her, knowing he wasn’t going to last long.  Wanting to take her over the edge with him.  “Hold onto me tight, Felicity,” he told her, sucking her earlobe into his mouth.  Realizing that he hadn’t even kissed her yet tonight.  

But kissing would have to wait until after they came.  

Her muscles clamped around his cock and Oliver groaned.  “That’s my girl, yeah, like that, Felicity,” he said, feeling her skin drag against him as he pounded into her.  “Make me even harder, just like that, you’re so fucking amazing.”  

He had never been this vocal during sex before.  He liked it, though--it let him tell her what he wanted.  What he needed from her.  So he kept talking, praise and curses mixed together, as the pressure built inside him.  The only pressure he actually wanted.  

On a hard thrust finished by him rocking his hips once he was deep inside her, Felicity stiffened around him.  And then she was shaking and panting, his name falling from her lips at the top of her lungs, as she came so beautifully hard.  

Which sent him right over the edge, his climax like an explosion and only the thought of keeping Felicity safe allowed him to keep his knees from collapsing out from underneath him.  

His body slumped against hers, pressing her back into the door--probably too hard, he thought dimly--but he just wasn’t able to move yet.  

With his body sated, his mind began to drift lazily through the events of tonight and the whole weekend.  Oliver couldn’t help feeling like he had made some kind of break-through.  Something that Felicity would want to talk about and analyze.  He didn’t mind.  He knew he should tell her how getting angry let him tap into the dominant side of himself--and even he knew that could backfire spectacularly on him.  Felicity would probably tell him it was too risky to use anger to become the dominant.  But for right now, he was going to enjoy this success.  

Soft kisses against his jaw pulled him out of his thoughts.  He lifted his head and looked at Felicity, her face soft and her eyes a pale blue.  “Hey,” he said softly.  

“Hey, yourself,” she replied sleepily, a smile appearing on his face.  “I feel like introductions are in order, because I just met a new Oliver.”  

Laughing softly, he brushed his nose against hers before meeting her eyes again.  “It was okay, right?  I mean, you knew if you said the safe word I’d have stopped, yeah?”  

Felicity’s fingers finally let go of his suspenders, her arms reaching up to wrap around his neck and play with his hair.  “I knew,” she replied.  “And I want to talk about why you came in here like a switch had been flipped.  But first, I need a nap.”  

“Are you saying I’ve tired you out?” he asked, pulling her in closer to him as he straightened up.  Pulling her away from the door and carrying her towards the bedroom.  

“Mmmm,” she hummed, tightening the grip of her arms and legs around him.  Curling in against him.  Like she felt safe with him.  “I’ll never tell,” she slurred, her head resting on his shoulder.  

_Someday, I’ll find a way to make you tell me what you’re thinking_ , Oliver thought to himself as he set her down on the bed.   _Someday, I’ll know what’s going on here and I’ll be able to tell you about it_.

But someday wasn’t today, Oliver knew.  So he just climbed into bed beside Felicity and fell asleep within a minute.

End, Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/18/15: A reader was kind enough to point out that the reporter's name on Arrow is Bethany Snow, not Brittany Snow. Since Brittany Snow is a real person--and an actress--I fixed that error. Ooops. Thanks for the heads-up, katakombs!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a bit extra time to get out, since I realized I needed to stop and figure out where I wanted to go with the story. There’s been more plot introduced, but hopefully I can keep providing you all the character moments and smut along with the plot. :-) 
> 
> Many thanks to callistawolf, fanmommer and closer2fine for their first read of this chapter.

Even though he was warm, he didn’t feel very comfortable.  Oliver blinked his eyes open and took in the room.  Felicity’s bedroom.  Unlike earlier, when he had carried her into the room and collapsed into bed with her, there were a few candles lit and a covered tray resting on the bed.  

“Hi, Sleeping Beauty.”  

Felicity’s voice came from behind him, and he rolled over carefully to look up at her, fighting a little with his rumpled clothing.  Unlike Felicity, who looked perfectly at ease.  Wrapped in her robe again, her hair mussed and her lipstick wiped away, she looked softer.  More real.  

Oliver smiled and reached out, resting his hand on her hip.  “Did you try kissing me awake again?”  

“I did,” she said, easing herself down on the bed next to him.  “But you were dead to the world.  You even fell asleep with your shoes on.”  

Lifting his head, Oliver looked down and saw that indeed, he was still wearing his shoes.  “One day, I want proof that you actually do try to kiss me awake.”  

She shrugged her shoulders, her robe gaping slightly.  “Okay, but I’d rather kiss you when you’re already awake.  Like right now.”  

Slowly, holding his eyes, Felicity leaned in and brushed her lips once, twice, three times against his.  “Like that,” she breathed out against his mouth.  

“No, like this,” Oliver countered, sliding his hand into her hair and holding her in place as he kissed her deeply, a kiss that was hello and welcome and yes, all rolled into one.  

When she sighed, her lips lingering on his, Oliver felt a rush of something go through him.  Something he had never felt before, something that was different from how he had felt with every other woman, during every other kiss.  

“An in-charge Oliver Queen is a sight to see,” Felicity murmured, nuzzling him before propping herself up on her forearms.  Her fingers played with his hair, heightening the warm, blissful sensations he was experiencing.  

“Yeah?” he asked softly, his hand running up and down her back.  

Felicity nodded, gazing at him.  “You have done so well.  Really, Oliver.”  

Looking back at her, seeing her soft blue eyes, Oliver felt truly relaxed.  Like he could tell her anything.  “Should I--should I be worried that it started because I was angry?”  

A small crease appeared between Felicity’s eyes.  “I don’t understand.”  

“Earlier.  Me taking control,” he said, swallowing to get some moisture into his suddenly-dry mouth.  “I was pissed off.”  

“About what?”  

Oliver looked up at the ceiling.  “About giving out that award and cutting into our time together.  About a reporter at the ceremony, asking me a question about Helena.  About whether it was just a question about my girlfriend or if . . .”  

His eyes moved to meet Felicity’s as he spoke, so he could see her thoughts.  Could see--and feel--the slight tension that worked into her frame.  “If?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.  

For a moment, he wavered and wondered if he should tell her what he was thinking.  Because this could change things.  It would bring real life into this bubble that surrounded them.  Felicity was so separate from everything else in his life.  She had met his best friend once, but everything else she knew about him was from being with him.  Regardless of what she had read about him before they met, her opinion of him really had been shaped from their interactions, from these nights of sex and conversations and smiles.  At least, that was what he thought.  

Would her opinion of him change once she knew more about how other people saw him?  How they really saw him: as the playboy and the screw-up and the pretty face?  It was all the press covered, the only thing people seemed to remember about him.  Until the day he died, he would be Ollie Queen, the rich punk who had peed on a police car.  Few people would remember the good he had done for his family’s company, for Starling City, for his loved ones.  

And then Felicity’s fingers slid from his hair to stroke his face, gently smoothing over his forehead and brows, down his nose and then lingering on his lips.  “You can tell me anything,” she said softly, looking at him with those amazing eyes of hers.  Warm and soft and gentle, full of support and caring and affection.  

He breathed out, releasing the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding.  “If they knew about you.”  

Felicity moved her fingers away from his lips to kiss him tenderly.  He wasn’t sure why she was kissing him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t respond to her kiss.  After a moment, she pulled away and smiled at him.  “Don’t worry about it, Oliver.”  

“Don’t worry about it?” he repeated, hearing the note of incredulity in his voice.

“Oliver, do you know what my master’s degree is in?”  

The question, a seeming non sequitur, made him frown in confusion.  “No--you haven’t told me.”  

“Computer science and cyber security,” Felicity said, an almost cocky smile quirking her lips.  “When I take someone on as a client, I set up sophisticated search programs that tell me if any reporters are starting to get too close to them--or to me.”

“Wait, let me get this straight--” Oliver began, pushing himself up on his elbows and making Felicity rise to a sitting position.  “You’re a hacker?”

“Are you more surprised about a young blonde woman being a hacker or a sex worker/dominatrix being that educated?” she asked, sounding amused.  

Although he wasn’t as smart as Felicity--Oliver had known that from the moment he met her--he was smart enough to know when a woman was setting up a trap for a man.  Because honestly, he  _was_  surprised.  Felicity was a nerd?  This sexy, beautiful, witty woman drank Red Bull and spent all day typing on a computer?  It just seemed wrong.  A waste.  Like hanging a priceless painting in a dungeon.

“I just assumed your master’s degree was in something like counseling or psychology,” he said, revealing one side of his thoughts.

“Nope.  I minored in psychology, though,” she replied, eyeing him as if she knew what he was thinking but was willing to let it slide.  “So when I say don’t worry about it, I mean it.  Because I would know if you needed to worry, and I would take steps to fix it.”  

Nodding slowly, Oliver gazed at Felicity.  Slotting this new puzzle piece into place, even as it made the puzzle that much bigger.  That much less clear.  Because if she was that good with computers--why was she doing this?  Why did she have sex with strangers and whip and punish men, when she could work for a software conglomerate or run her own company or whatever she wanted?

What was that line?  A riddle inside a mystery wrapped up in an enigma?  Oliver didn’t know where he had heard it, but it seemed like the perfect description of Felicity.  Because he didn’t even know her last name . . . yet there were times when he felt like all those details didn’t matter, because he knew her on a different level.  A more important level.

But that didn’t change that he did want to know the details, too.

Felicity leaned forward and kissed him lightly.  “Let’s talk more about how anger let you tap into your dominant side, and the pluses and minuses of that approach.  But over dinner--I’m starving.  And you should take your tux off so it doesn’t get even more wrinkled.”  

There was a lot of talking ahead of them tonight.  Oliver knew it would probably be a late night--that he probably wouldn’t be leaving until the wee hours of the morning.  And he didn’t mind that one bit.  Because spending time with Felicity was worth any future inconvenience.  

“Is that the only reason you want me to get undressed?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.  

With a soft giggle, Felicity stood up and moved around the bed to uncover the tray.  “Wait and see, Mr. Queen.”  

His groin always tightened when she called him that.  Oliver revised his estimated time of departure, pushing it back an hour.  Because there was no way he was leaving tonight without having her again.

XXX

After Sunday night, Oliver was ready to officially break things off with Helena.  Any further delay did neither of them any favors and he had already put things off for too long.  Really, he should have broken up with Helena after his second appointment with Felicity; he had just been too reluctant to rock the boat.  So first thing Monday morning, he called her and asked her out to dinner the next evening.  

Helena didn’t sound surprised at his dinner invitation, which made him wary.  Because he couldn’t remember the last time they had shared a meal together.  They had appeared at a few galas and benefits over the past month, but ever since he began seeing Felicity, he had felt little interest in seeing Helena beyond those already-agreed-upon commitments.  And at the end of those events, neither of them had suggested spending the night together.

Shouldn’t that have raised some red flags with Helena, then?  How he had basically ignored her for a month, and then asked her out to dinner?  It made those worries in his gut flare to life again, Felicity’s reassurances to the contrary.  But then, she could spot whether the press had any information on their relationship; she couldn’t tell what was going through Helena Bertinelli’s head.  If he didn’t know what she was thinking, after dating Helena for over a year and a half and knowing her most of her life, what chance did Felicity have?  Especially when Felicity had never met Helena?

Rolling his shoulders, Oliver pulled himself back from the ledge.  That was something else he was working on: not falling into a spiral of negative thoughts.  Because when he did, it always made him feel the pressure--and several times, it had led to panic attacks.  

Yes, he was walking into a situation and feeling somewhat blind.  It was difficult to know how Helena was going to take this.  She might appear placid and easy-tempered, but he knew she was a passionate woman, full of emotion.  Still waters definitely ran deep when it came to her.  But even if it made for an uncomfortable night for him in the short term, he knew in the long run they would both be better off by putting an end to their relationship.  

He wanted to be free.  And Helena deserved someone who wanted to be with her.  

Still, his stomach was churning during the whole drive to Helena’s apartment.  When he pulled his car to a stop at the curb, he took a moment to breathe in and out before switching off the ignition and heading into her building.  

The elevator ride to the thirty-ninth floor was over too quickly, and then he was walking to her apartment with few ideas of how to get through tonight.  Before Helena, his only other relationship had seen multiple break-ups: angry, passionate ones, eventually followed by equally passionate make-ups.  So he wasn’t sure how to break up with someone amicably, to just say the words ‘it’s not working’ and make it not seem like a judgement on Helena.  

Because it truly wasn’t.  As cliched as it was, this was about him, not Helena.  About how he was getting closer to answering that question Felicity had asked him in their first phone call: what kind of man would he be without his burdens and responsibilities?  And what was a bigger burden than being involved with a woman he didn’t love anymore--if he had ever loved her in the first place?  

But to do that, he had to knock on her door and get tonight started.  Instead of continuing to stare at the door, he lifted his fist and knocked firmly.  After a moment, he heard the locks turning and there was Helena, dressed in a simple black dress, her legs and feet bare and her hair hanging down her back.  It was different from her normal appearance: simpler, less polished, making her appear young and innocent.  

“Are you still getting ready?” he asked curiously, then checked his watch.  “I told you I was coming at six-thirty, right?”  

“You did,” Helena said, lifting up on her toes to brush her lips over his cheek.  “I thought we could eat in tonight.  I ordered takeout from D’Annunzio’s.  It should be here any minute.”  

“Oh,” he replied, a bit taken aback.  They had never been much for private dinners at her place or his; if they weren’t eating in a restaurant, they were usually with one of their families.  So this was unusual.  And while eating here would allow them to really talk, the prospect of doing this without any bystanders meant it all could get very ugly, very fast.  

And if it did, he could just leave the apartment, get in his car, and drive away, Oliver told himself.  So he put on a smile and nodded to Helena.  “Sounds great.”  

“Come in, then,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him into the apartment.  “I’ll pour us some wine.”  

Oliver stepped inside slowly, watching Helena carefully.  He wasn’t sure why he felt so many misgivings about her, about tonight, but he did.  And he wasn’t used to being on his guard like this.  Although he was probably just being paranoid, he told himself as he took a seat on the couch.  Or feeling guilty, for continuing his relationship with her, although in name only, while he had been sleeping with Felicity.  

Not that he should be thinking about that at this moment.  No, he needed to focus on this, on Helena.  It was going to be okay.  They would eat dinner and have a talk about their relationship.  Hopefully, they could part as friends.  Or at least on good terms.  That was possible, right?

XXX

“Get out, you asshole!”

Moving fast, Oliver closed the door to Helena’s apartment, barely avoiding the container of eggplant Parmesan she hurled at him.  Given that there was already flecks of marinara sauce on his suit and dress shirt, from when she had shoved her plate across the table at him and he had caught it with his arm before it hit the floor, Oliver considered that a victory.

The only victory of the night, he thought grimly as he walked quickly to the elevator.

When the evening began, he thought everything might work out as he had hoped.  They had exchanged some small talk while sipping wine and waiting for the food to arrive.  Helena had ordered a few entreés, as well as D’Annunzio’s famous crab cakes as an appetizer.  But she had forgotten he was allergic to shellfish.  

At least she had ordered spaghetti Bolognese, which he enjoyed.  After she ate the crab cakes while he watched, they had both begun eating their entreés.  But he mostly just moved the food around on his plate and ate a few bites of garlic bread, waiting for a moment to start the discussion he had come here to have.  

In retrospect, asking her if she was surprised by his invitation to dinner was not the best opening approach.  Because then Helena had spun a completely unexpected fairy tale, about how he must have realized how important she was to him and how alike they were.  How their pasts had been touched by tragedy but they were rebuilding together.  

He had been so flabbergasted, he had blurted out that they weren’t rebuilding anything, and certainly not together.  And from there, what he had hoped would be a peaceful break-up turned into shouting, accusations and flung pasta.  

If only he had handled it better, Oliver thought as he stalked out of the elevator, heading to the exit.  Maybe then it would have been less destructive.  But it was done, at least.  His relationship with Helena was officially over.  Now, all he wanted was to get home and go to bed.  

Oliver drew up short as he approached the lobby’s glass doors.  His car was parked in a prime location, right in front of the building.  He had thought it was luck when he had found such a good spot, but now he was realizing what a big mistake he had made.  

Because there were six photographers milling around his car.  Waiting for him.  Probably tipped off by someone looking to make a buck.  And with how he looked--the condition of his suit and his hair rumpled from the times he had run his hands through it--the photographers would be full of accusations that they would be eager to throw at him.  

Grimacing for a moment, Oliver squared his shoulders and pushed out of the building, walking straight towards his car without engaging the photographers.  But it didn’t matter: they still took their photos, still shouted their questions at him.

“Trouble in paradise, Ollie?”

“Did she dump you, Oliver?”  

“Is there another woman for you, Ollie?  Or for her?”

Since he had spent the last fifteen years dodging those kinds of questions, Oliver knew to ignore them.  But they rankled, each and every one of them.  

He yanked open the door of his car and got in, letting them take their photos, knowing he looked annoyed and mad.  But he didn’t care.  They had made an already-bad night worse, and he was on the verge of snapping.  

Which was why, once he had pulled away from the curb in a squeal of tires, he activated the in-car system that let him voice dial his phone.  “Call Felicity.”  

Through the speakers, the tones as Felicity’s phone rang were tinny and muted.  On the fourth buzz, the phone was finally picked up.  “This is John, may I help you?”  

Ready to say ‘wrong number’ and hang up, Oliver paused.  The voice sounded familiar.  “Is that John Diggle?”  

“Yes, sir.  May I help you?”  

Swallowing, Oliver gripped the steering wheel.  “Is Felicity available?  This is Oliver Queen.”  It was standard rich boy strategy: make sure they knew, right away, who was calling.  Because his name opened most doors to him.  And if the door still stayed shut, his money would open it.  

“I’m sorry, Mr. Queen, Felicity is indisposed.  May I take a message?”  

Indisposed.  Something about the word, about all the things it covered up, made Oliver see red for a moment.  Because it wasn’t like she was indisposed because she was getting dressed or was on another call or in the other room.  She was indisposed because she was with another client.  That was the only explanation.  

For the most part, Oliver had ignored the reality of Felicity’s job.  The fact that he wasn’t the only man she saw.  He wasn’t the only one who paid her for her time, for her caring, for her skills.  He had tried not to think about it, because those passing moments when he had, Oliver hadn’t liked how he felt.  Hadn’t liked the feelings that had stirred inside him as he realized what Felicity did on the nights he didn’t see her.  

It was the way he held on to his control.  

But the fact was, Felicity had many other clients.  And it was getting rubbed in his face, when he could feel how shaky his grip was.  Taking a deep breath, Oliver tried to focus.  

“Could you ask her to call me?  At any time--it doesn’t matter.  I just--I would really like to talk to her.”  There was the barest of trembles in his voice and he hoped Felicity’s bodyguard didn’t hear it.  

“I will let her know as soon as possible, Mr. Queen.”  John paused, then lowered his voice slightly.  “You could probably expect her call in forty-five minutes or so, sir.”  

Whether it was sympathy or pity or something else that lead John to give Oliver that piece of information, he didn’t know.  But he was grateful for it.  “Thank you, John.  I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome, sir.  Have a good evening,” he replied before hanging up.  

With a soft sigh, Oliver returned his focus to his driving.  Trying to keep his thoughts from going to dark places.  Like what Felicity was doing right now, or how much he had messed up his conversation with Helena, or just what the papers would say in the morning.  

None of those things were within his control.  He couldn’t change any of them.  He could only hope to react in a way that wouldn’t cause further turmoil and stress.  At least, that was what he had started to learn with Felicity.  To recognize how non-productive some forms of stress were--the kinds of stress that he was prone to creating for himself.  

Yet with each minute that elapsed, Oliver felt the pressure increase.  It was almost enough to make him change course and head to the gym he used.  Maybe lifting some weights or running would let him burn this out of him.  

But then he might miss Felicity’s call.  

So he kept heading back to the Queen mansion, placing his hope in Felicity’s ability to help him calm down.  

When he stepped into the house, it was quiet.  He vaguely remembered his mother mentioning an event she was attending tonight, and Thea was probably out with her friends, enjoying all the benefits of being in the spring of her senior year of high school.  

Oliver couldn’t help a tight smile as he remembered--what he could, that is--of his senior year of high school.  It was a miracle he and Tommy had actually graduated, although Oliver was fairly certain his parents and Tommy’s father had pulled some strings to make that happen.  

Giving his head a shake, he climbed the stairs, heading straight to his room.  He stripped off his clothes, leaving them in the dry-cleaning pile, and went straight to the shower.  

The hot water, pounding against his skin, helped loosen his shoulders and back a little.  Even more helpful for his relaxation was stepping out of the shower and seeing that Felicity should be calling him at any moment.  

Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, Oliver stretched out on his bed, waiting.  Waiting.  The minutes ticked past, making him wonder what he would do if Felicity didn’t call.  There was a gym in the basement . . . it didn’t compare to his normal facility, but he could at least use the treadmill for a while, long enough to exhaust his body so he could sleep.  Because with the way his mind was going over everything that had happened tonight, there was no way he could sleep without either Felicity or exercise.  

The ring of his cell phone made him jerk and he snatched up the device, pressing Accept before it had reached a second ring.  “Hello?”  

“Are you okay?”  

The warm tones of Felicity’s voice, so full of caring and support, wrapped around him like a blanket.  Oliver closed his eyes, letting his head drop back against the bed as he sighed.  “I’m okay.  I’m sorry--it just . . . it was a really bad night.”  

There was a soft rustling, like Felicity was getting comfortable.  Was she in bed?  Or perhaps on the sofa in her living room, feeling the soft velvet rub against her skin?  He wished he knew where she was so he could picture her.

“I’m here, Oliver.  Tell me what happened.”  

Surprisingly, the words came easily.  Oliver opened his eyes, looked up at his ceiling, and started talking.  Given that he had never done more than mention Helena, it felt strangely good to tell Felicity the whole story, starting with his invitation to Helena for dinner, his decision to break up with her, and then relating how badly everything had gone.  Felicity listened quietly, not asking him for explanations or seeking more details than what he shared with her.  

By the time he got to the photographers, and his frustration with the view they had of him, Oliver felt like he had lost ten years worth of stress.  It was just so . . . freeing.  To have someone he could talk to like this, someone who would listen and not judge him.  Because everyone else in his life--his mother, Thea, Tommy--they wouldn’t be able to just listen.  

When he finished, Felicity was quiet for a moment.  “That definitely sounds like a bad night,” she said, echoing his earlier statement.  “I’m sorry that it was so tough, Oliver.  How are you feeling?”  

“Before I called you, all I could think was how angry and frustrated I was.  And . . . and guilty,” he replied, his voice low.  “I felt like I could have handled things better with Helena.  Done this sooner, or found better words to use--”  

“That may be true,” Felicity gently interrupted.  “But you can’t control how she reacted to you, Oliver.  She was upset and angry--she probably said some things she didn’t mean, let herself give in to her anger more than she should.”  

“Maybe,” he acknowledged.  “But--talking to you has helped a lot.  Thank you, Felicity.”  

Through the phone, he could hear her breathing.  Hear how deep it was.  Like she was trying to suck in air, but he didn’t understand why.  “Felicity?”  

“I’m here,” she said quickly.  “So you’re feeling better?”

Tucking an arm behind his head, Oliver nodded.  “I am.  I appreciate you calling me.”  And then, without any conscious thought, he said, “I like hearing your voice.”  

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut.  What was he doing?  Blurting out that he liked her voice?  What was he, nine years old with a crush on the pretty babysitter?  

“Where are you, Oliver?”

Her question made his eyes pop open.  “Excuse me?”  

“Where are you, right now?” Felicity repeated, her voice dropping into a lower register.  One that never failed to make his body stand up at attention.  

“Um . . . my bedroom,” he replied slowly, his cock immediately suggesting why Felicity wanted to know his location while his mind slapped it down.  

“Good.  Because I think you have had a very bad night, and I want to make you feel even better.”  

The way Felicity practically purred those words told Oliver that his cock was right.  And his cock was very, very happy at being right.  

“O-okay,” he stuttered out.  Phone sex had never been something he saw the point of--why settle for your hand and a girl talking to you, when you could just get in the car and drive to meet the girl, or find a different girl--but tonight, he was all for it.  

Because it was Felicity.  

“Tell me where you are in your bedroom, Oliver,” Felicity whispered.  Her voice had always been a turn-on for him, but now, with it low and dark and seductive, it was almost overwhelming how his body was responding.  

“I’m laying on my bed . . . where are you?”  

“Me, too.  In my room.  Stretched out over my purple duvet, wearing just a slip,” Felicity replied softly.  

Purple duvet.  Had she changed her bedding?  Or--or was she in her actual room?

“What are you wearing, Oliver?”  

Felicity’s question jerked him out of his head and to other matters.  “Sweatpants,” he gritted out.  “And a t-shirt.”  

“Get undressed,” she ordered.  Oliver set down the phone and whipped off his clothes, the anticipation surging through his body.  He lay back against the pillows, feeling the smooth silkiness of the bedsheets against his back, his ass, his legs.  He swallowed, his hand fluttering towards his cock, but he held back for the moment.  Waiting for what Felicity would tell him to do next.

“I’m naked,” he said into the phone.  Picturing her, her nipples straining against her slip, her face flushed and her teeth sinking into her perfect lower lip.    

“Okay,” she answered, her breathing sounding a bit unsteady.  “Wrap those nice, long fingers around your dick.  Tell me how you feel.”  

Oliver felt his cheeks flush.  Which was interesting, since he thought he had gotten to a point with Felicity where he didn’t feel embarrassed or flustered.  After everything he had shared with her, everything they had done with each other’s bodies . . . why did what she was asking of him feel so different?  

Slowly, he took his hand and enclosed his cock in his fist.  He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to maintain his control while figuring out what to tell Felicity.

“Hot,” he muttered into the phone.  “Hard.”  

“Good, Oliver,” she said, the combination of her voice and the praise making him barely hold back a groan.  “I bet you’re very hard, right?”  

“Uh-huh,” he grunted, unable to keep his hand from sliding up and down his length.  

There was only the sound of their breathing for a moment, then Felicity spoke.  “Keep pumping your hand up and down your dick.  Do you feel how soft your skin is, how it glides as you move your hand?”  

He let out a huff of laughter.  “You--you knew I was already--”  

“I’m the best, Oliver,” she replied, a hint of amusement and smugness in her voice.  It made him smile, even as he stroked himself faster.  

“Yeah--you are--so damn good . . . I wish my hand was yours.”  

A long, soft sigh came through the phone, going right from his ears to his groin.  “Me, too.”  

“Unngh,” he groaned, squeezing his fist around his cock.  “Felicity . . .”  

“Let go of your dick.  Cup your balls.  Roll them around for me, Oliver.”  

On auto-pilot, Oliver did as she told him, hissing out a breath at how his body reacted to her words and his hand.  

“Bet you feel good--so good,” she crooned.  “Your balls are heavy?  Hot to the touch?”  

For a moment, he couldn’t even speak.  He felt himself nod, lost in the sensation.

“Oliver, do you want to feel even better?”  

“Yes!” he gasped, his hand bumping against the back of his cock as he rolled his balls in his palm, each moment of contact making his vision white out for a second.  

“Okay--okay,” she said, sounding breathless.  “Wrap your hand around your tip.  Just the tip.  Nice and tight.  Have you done it, Oliver?”  

What was she doing?  He didn’t know, but Oliver licked his lips and closed his fist around the head of his cock, feeling the precum smear over his skin.  “Okay--yeah.”  

“Thrust into your fist, Oliver.  Just a little ways, and then pull back.  Fast, Oliver, very fast.”  Her stuttered commands dimly registered with him, but he was too caught up in this unique way of jerking himself off.  Because it made the tension increase, little by little, the buildup so slow that he felt like he was going to go crazy before he would come.  

“Fe--Fe-li-ci-ty . . .”  

“Yes,” she gasped.  “Yes, Oliver.”  

For an endless moment, Oliver closed his eyes and kept thrusting, going as fast as he could, trying to get to where he needed to be, wanting to be there so damn much.

But not as much as he still wished it was Felicity’s hand around his cock.  

A soft moan broke through his haze and he frowned.  “Felicity?”  

“Let go, Oliver,” she whispered raggedly.  “Thrust hard and fast.”  

With her words, he let his cock slam into and through his fist, all the way down to the base and then back up, his hips jerking fast, his whole body moving in a chase towards his climax.  

Considering how wound up he was, he was surprised it took three thrusts, instead of only one, before thick ropes of white cum spewed onto his stomach.  It collected in pools, following the lines of his abs, as he kept moving his hand to draw out his climax.  

And for a moment, he thought he saw Felicity.  Here, kneeling between his legs, watching him and licking her lips.  And that was enough for him to empty himself out and slump back against the bed.  

His hand ached from gripping the phone.  Somehow, he managed to hit the speaker button before letting the phone drop onto the bed.  “God, Felicity.”  

When she spoke, her voice was soft and a little hesitant.  “Good?”  

“So good,” he moaned.  “I need another shower, but I don’t care.”  

There was a soft giggle from her end of the phone.  “Yeah.  We made a mess all over your bed.”

“Worth it,” he breathed out, prompting another giggle from Felicity.  

An easy, comfortable silence fell over them.  Oliver thought he would be happy to just lie here and listen to her breathing.  Which was . . . he didn’t even know what it meant, but it made him want to break the silence.  Because if he waited, he wasn’t sure what he would say.  

“I should go . . .”  

“Mmm, yeah, I guess so,” Felicity said, sounding sleepy.  “See you tomorrow?” 

Oliver smiled to himself.  “Yeah, tomorrow.  Good night.”  

“Sweet dreams, Sleeping Beauty.”  

Laughing softly, Oliver hung up the phone, relaxing back against his bed.  His eyes drifted shut for a moment and he was tempted to just go to sleep.  But he knew he wouldn’t like the condition he would wake up in, so he sat up slowly and cleaned up some of the mess with a case from one of the pillows.  Then he padded back into the bathroom for another shower.  

And this time, he didn’t need the shower to relax him.  He nearly fell asleep standing up, barely catching himself.  He stumbled out of the shower stall, wrapping a towel around his waist before he fell, face-first, onto his bed.  

Within moments, Oliver was asleep.

XXX

The next morning, Oliver stepped into the breakfast room, hungry as a horse and ready to get his day started.  After all, it was Wednesday.  He was free of Helena, things were good at QC, his family was happy . . . and he was seeing Felicity that evening.  He felt like things were looking up, which made him feel more cheerful than he had in a long time.  

But as soon as he saw his mother, sitting at the table with all three Starling City newspapers spread before her, Oliver realized his good day was delicate, like a soufflé that could collapse with just a breath.  

“There you are,” Moira said, dropping the paper.  “What happened last night?” 

She waved a smooth, manicured hand towards the newspapers, all of them open to pictures of him leaving Helena’s apartment building the previous evening.

“Good morning, Mom.  I hope your evening was good,” Oliver responded, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“There is no need to be sarcastic, Oliver,” she chided him, standing up to join him at the counter.  “I just had no idea that you and Helena were having problems.”  

“We weren’t, Mom.  Which was a problem,” Oliver said before taking a sip of coffee.  Putting down his cup, he reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder.  “I broke up with her last night.”  

Moira’s face fell.  “Oh, Oliver.  Are you sure about this?”  

“C’mon, Mom,” he said gently.  “Did you really think we were a perfect match?” 

“You had so much in common--”  

“Really, Mom?”  

Thea breezed into the room, interjecting herself as she kissed Moira on the cheek.  “Ollie and Stepford Barbie had nothing in common.”  

“Thea, that is unfair,” Moira argued.  “Helena and your brother were both from the same circles--they both experienced grief.  It brought them together.”  

“But it wasn’t enough to keep us together,” Oliver said.  “I’m sorry for not telling you--and for however the papers are slanting it--but I don’t love Helena.  It’s better this way.”  

His mother gazed up at him, then lifted her hand to rest it over his on her shoulder.  “If you’re sure . . . I just want you to be happy.”  

“I know, Mom,” he said, giving her a small smile.  “And this will help me be happy.”

“What is this all over your suit, Ollie?” Thea asked, having crossed to the table to pick up one of the papers.  

“That would be spaghetti sauce, from when Helena shoved her plate towards me and I tried to keep it from falling onto the floor,” Oliver explained, picking up his coffee cup.  “I’m starving--what’s for breakfast?”  

Moira turned and pressed the bell, calling the maid to bring in the breakfast dishes, before turning back to Oliver.  “Now that the Unidac merger is closed, the company’s in a very strong position.  One that we need to keep building on.”  

“I know, but the thousand new jobs we’re adding--and prioritizing hiring people who live in the Glades--is going to let us compete with Merlyn Global, not to mention Wayne Enterprises and Kord Industries.  All while we win the PR war,” Oliver said, taking a seat at the table.  He gave his mother a small smile.  “I might be finally learning how to be a CEO.”  

Her eyes softened and she sat beside him, resting her hand on his arm.  “I always knew you would.  You’ve done so well, Oliver.”  

As the maid began serving breakfast, putting eggs and bacon and toast on their plates, Oliver wondered why the same compliment from his mother and from Felicity sparked such different feelings in him.  From Moira, there was pride, yes--but also a hint of judgement.  Almost like she was surprised.  

There was none of that with Felicity.  It felt like a simple, honest compliment when she said those words.  

He was probably reading too much into the words, Oliver told himself.  Being uncharitable towards his mother.  Because he knew she loved him, he knew she was proud of him.  

Yet it still felt like Felicity was more proud of him than his own mother.  

“Ollie?”  

“Hmm?” he asked, looking at Thea.

She laughed a little.  “Off in la la land again.  You wanna get lunch this weekend?”  

“Sure, Speedy,” he said, smiling at her.  “You cover lunch and I’ll pick up the ice cream?”  

“Deal!” she said, grinning.  “You know the way to a girl’s heart: just mention ice cream.”  

Laughing, Oliver dug into his breakfast, listening as Thea and his mother began talking about some upcoming benefit and the necessary shopping trip, and felt his good mood returning.  

Felicity had asked him what kind of man he would be without his responsibilities.  The truth was, he didn’t want to get rid of all of them.  Because being with his family, having the accomplishment of running his family’s company . . . they were good things in his life.  Things he didn’t want to give up.  

And he wanted more good things.  Now that he had broken up with Helena, now that he was learning to manage his life better . . . perhaps it was time to figure out what other ‘good things’ he wanted.  

End, Chapter 6


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t’s time for something many readers have been asking about since early in this story. Yet I had to put my own twist on just what you’ve been asking for. :-) I hope you enjoy this chapter!

The next two weeks were like something out of a dream.  It was like a hint of everything his life could be like, once he learned to manage the pressures of being Oliver Queen.  

Queen Consolidated’s profile had been considerably elevated, both locally and nationally, thanks to the successful completion of the Unidac Industries merger and to the number of new positions they were adding.   For some reason, Oliver himself was getting some of the credit, although he was quick to deflect praise towards people like Walter Steele, their CFO, not to mention highlighting the great work being done by various department heads and really, every employee of the company.

For once, the press was seeing him in a new light.  Not even his break-up with Helena, and the questions about what their break-up might mean for the close relationship between QC and Frank Bertinelli’s interests, could drown out all the positive stories about QC and Oliver himself.  

Meanwhile, both his family and friends were noticing his new positive attitude.  Thea had joked that she would have to start calling him Tigger instead of Eeyore.  His mother’s smiles were quiet yet full of pride.  And Tommy kept eyeing him during their occasional nights on the town, when Oliver turned down the women who flirted with him.  But since Oliver hadn’t gone clubbing with Tommy for months, and was now willing to do so, it didn’t seem like Tommy wanted to rock the boat by talking to Oliver about his lack of game.  

Which was a good thing.  Because Oliver had a feeling that Tommy would definitely not approve of his continuing, deepening relationship with Felicity.

Ever since he had met Felicity, he had been struck by her warmth, her genuineness.  He never felt like she was playing a part when they were together, like he was paying her for her time.  On some level, he supposed, she might be, but . . . it just didn’t feel like she was being anyone but herself.  It felt real.  

And in the last two weeks, that feeling had only gotten stronger.  

There was something extra in their encounters.  From the moment he stepped into her suite and saw her eyes sparkle at him, to the moment he left after one last, lingering kiss . . . it was like Felicity wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her.  

Oliver tried to be sensible.  Practical.  Realistic.  Because he  _did_  pay her for her time, because this was about helping him, healing him.  But it had stopped being about paying her and expecting something in return.  No, the money that he electronically transferred to her . . . it wasn’t about what he got from her.  It was a way he could show her how much she meant to him.  How important she was, how invaluable.  He had more money than he could spend in a lifetime--his teens and early twenties had proven that.  If his money let her live the life she wanted, gave her the choice to accept who she wanted to see without finances being a consideration, he would have given her every penny he had.  

Swallowing, Oliver looked down at the paperwork he was supposed to be reviewing, then pushed back from his desk and stood up.  It was a few minutes to noon and he was meeting his mother for lunch; he could afford to leave early.  He buttoned his suit jacket and headed towards the elevator, to meet his mother as she walked into the lobby of QC.  

As usual, though, his thoughts quickly returned to Felicity.  To this new idea of paying her enough so that she wouldn’t need to see anyone else.  Making himself her only client.  But his mind shied away from the idea quickly, for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out.  Perhaps because it just felt so . . . tawdy.  So old-fashioned.  Especially since Felicity had expertise and resources.  She didn’t need his money to survive; she could make her own, with her computer skills, and live a life that wasn’t hidden in the shadows.  

Even with all the hours they had spent together, and the changes he had begun to notice in her, Oliver knew that she was hiding things from him.  Hiding her past, hiding her reasons for being a sex worker instead of a computer programmer.  Yet again, he was struck by her words, about finding a way to get what she wanted.  Was this the best she thought she could do?  Oliver didn’t know, but he wished he could find out.  But he didn’t want to risk upsetting her, didn’t want to risk her ending their arrangement.  

He could be patient.  Scoop up the little details she let slip with him and hold them close as he kept working to complete the puzzle that was Felicity.  

Putting on a smile as he stepped into the lobby, Oliver nodded to employees who greeted him with smiles and handshakes.  Just as he reached the main doors, his mother stepped inside, a smile lighting up her face.  “Oliver!”

“Hi, Mom,” he said, bending down to kiss her cheek.  “Ready for lunch?”  

She nodded and took his arm.  “I thought we could do that charming little bistro down the street?  Their duck salad is so delicious.”  

“Of course,” Oliver replied, willing to eat wherever she chose.  

During their walk to the restaurant,they exchanged small talk, discussing the arrangements of Thea’s birthday blow-out that weekend.  Oliver promised he would spend some time with Thea, helping her get used to her new car.  He had grown slightly mollified to the thought of Speedy behind the wheel, if only because he had seen a change in her the last few weeks.  His efforts to spend time with her, as her brother, seemed to have been paying off.  Oliver had seen a new maturity in Thea that made him so proud of his little sister--who really wasn’t so little anymore, he knew.  

Everything was going well, until after they had placed their lunch orders and Moira looked at him with an expression he would call hesitant on any other person’s face.  “I asked you to lunch today not just to discuss Thea, Oliver.”  

Oliver leaned back in his chair.  “Then shouldn’t we have gone to a restaurant I like, then?” he teased her.  His mother huffed out a breath and Oliver held up a hand.  “I’m joking, Mom.  What is it?”  

“As you know, I’m on the board of the SCPD Widows’ and Orphans’ Fund, and their annual gala is being hosted at the Queen Mansion this Sunday,” Moira began.  “It’s a very important event, one that I want to succeed.  So I thought it wise to warn you that Helena could be there.”  

“What?” he said, his eyebrows drawing together.

Moira shrugged.  “Frank Bertinelli is one of our biggest contributors.  So naturally, he and Helena are invited to the event.  I know you said your break-up was friendly, relatively speaking, but I believed it would be awkward, the first time you saw her again.”  

It was a level of consideration that was slightly unusual for his mother, but Oliver realized, as he contemplated the matter, it wasn’t necessary.  Because the thought of seeing Helena again didn’t bother him.  Not on his account, at least.

“Calling our break-up ‘friendly’ is stretching things, Mom,” he acknowledged, taking a sip from his glass of water.  “She was pretty angry with me.  I can’t guarantee there won’t be a scene, although I won’t be doing anything to antagonize her, of course.”  

“I understand,” she replied, reaching across the table to rest her hand over his.  “I just felt you should have a warning that she could be attending.”  

“If you’d rather avoid the chance, I could skip the benefit,” Oliver offered, and not for purely altruistic reasons.  With Thea’s birthday party on Friday night, for which he would be staying until the very end, and going out with Tommy on Saturday, his weekend was packed.  And if he attended the gala on Sunday night, he might not get to see Felicity.

His mother brushed aside his concerns.  “Nonsense.  Both you and Helena are adults, you know how to behave.  I have every confidence in your ability to remember why you’re there: to support a very worthy cause.”  

“I think you might be giving me too much credit,” Oliver replied with a smile.  

“You know, there is no need to continually knock yourself down like this, Oliver,” Moira said, her lips pursing.  “More than most people, I know about your previous misadventures, but it’s been more than five years.  You have turned your life around, you have brought QC into the future . . . I wonder if you realize just how much you’ve accomplished.  How far you’ve come--how much you have to be proud of.”

He blinked, sitting back in his chair.  

“Don’t look so surprised,” she continued.  “I know you’ve been struggling, but I didn’t want to call attention to it.  I didn’t want to make you feel like you were being watched.”

“Mom, I’m being watched all the time--”

Moira huffed.  “Not like that, Oliver.  I meant, I realized the strain you were under and I didn’t want to add to it, by making you concerned about my worries.”  Her smile was soft and sad.  “Because a mother always worries about her children, even in the best of times.  I’m so thankful that you seem to be entering a good period in your life.”  

Swallowing, Oliver looked down at the table.  Feeling a rush of emotions that he couldn’t fully categorize.  Not when he was sitting in a restaurant with his mother.  So he simply nodded and gave his mother a small smile.  “Thank you.”  

With a regal nod and a warm smile, Moira accepted his thanks, then turned as the waiter delivered their entrees.  Their conversation shifted back to lighter topics, yet Oliver’s mind kept turning over what his mother had said.  Feeling like there was something in her words that hadn’t sunk in yet.

XXX

“Something strange happened at lunch today,” Oliver told Felicity that evening. 

She looked up from her sushi, her slender fingers holding her chopsticks.  Because she had revealed how much she enjoyed Japanese food, Oliver had gotten into the habit of bringing sushi on Wednesday nights.  Tonight, like most nights, their dinner had waited until after round one, though.  

Their reunion had begun when Felicity had greeted him with a kiss and her hand stroking him through his pants.  Soon, her hand was wrapped around his cock and he was gasping her name, before his own hand mirrored her actions and slid inside her silky thong.  They had brought each other off, the only break in the action when Felicity had kneeled down to swallow his cum.  

Now he was wearing just his boxer briefs, his food resting against his chest, while Felicity had wrapped her lace-trimmed lavender robe around herself, to sit cross-legged on the sofa and start eating.  With his body sated, Oliver’s mind returned to his conversation with his mother.  And just like so many times before, he found himself talking to Felicity about it.

“What do you mean, strange?  Like, ‘waiter, there’s a fly in my soup’ strange, or ‘aliens have landed outside the restaurant and want my help create a new master race’ strange?”

Oliver chuckled, looking at her.  “Where do you get these?” he asked, amused at how quickly her mind worked--and how funny she was.  

Shrugging her shoulders, she smiled at him.  “So what happened?” she repeated, delicately popping a piece of her rainbow roll into her mouth and chewing slowly.  

For some reason, he found himself taking a deep breath and looking away from her.  “My mother said she knew I was having problems.”  

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Felicity go still, her attention focusing even more on him.  

“She said she didn’t want to pile on by making me aware that she was worried about me,” Oliver continued, his voice choked.  “And I . . . I didn’t know what to say.  So I said thank you.  Because she said she was happy things were better for me now.”  

Saying those words . . . it made his heart beat faster.  Because at first, he had felt something off about what his mother had said, but didn’t really know what it was.  Or perhaps he just didn’t want to feel those emotions in the middle of a crowded restaurant.  But here and now, they were finally registering with him--and he didn’t like what he was starting to understand.

Shoving aside the container of sushi on his chest, Oliver leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, with his face in his hands.  The emotions he had felt earlier and pushed down, the hours he had spent turning over what Moira had said, the safety he felt being with Felicity: it all combined together as everything became clear.  

If she had known he was hurting, why had his mother done nothing to help him?  Why had she left him all alone, feeling lost and scared?  Why--why--

“No,” he cried, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.  His shoulders shook as the tears came, as he grasped what he had been trying not to think about all day.  

His mother hadn’t helped him when she knew he needed it.  

He didn’t know how long he sat there.  There weren’t many tears after the first rush, but he kept mumbling his thoughts, forced to speak his feelings as he tried to cope with this.  He kept his hands over his face, to muffle the words he couldn’t help saying . . . and they let him feel safe.  Like he needed to let this out so he could deal with this.  As he coped with this new perspective on the last year--on the last five years--and how it totally upended his world.  

By the time he realized Felicity was stroking his back and murmuring softly to him, he felt wrung out and exhausted.  Like he could sleep for days.    

“It’s okay,” she said softly, pressing a kiss against his shoulder.  “It’s okay, Oliver.”    

Turning his head, he looked at her.  She didn’t smile at him.  Her face was very serious, her lips pressed together and her eyes stormy.  He frowned a little.  “Felicity?”  Her name sounded scratchy and rough in his ears, and he rubbed a hand over his face, brushing away a stray tear.  

Oliver watched as Felicity seemed to . . . calm herself down?  Her face softened and her eyes lightened as she relaxed.  Her lips curved up at the corners and she moved closer to him.  “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice quiet and warm.  

“Like shit,” he replied honestly.  

Her smile strengthened for a moment and she nodded.  “That’s normal after crying,” she said, rubbing his shoulder affectionately.  “You want to sit back?” she asked, shifting and removing her robe, leaving her in a matching slip and thong.    

Nodding, he leaned back against the sofa, the velvet warm and soft and comforting against his shoulders and back.  But then Felicity slid into his lap, her side resting against his front and her head on his shoulder while her legs stretched across his and onto the sofa cushions.  And her body, her skin, was so much more comforting than anything else.  

She ran her hand over his chest, stroking his pecs and abs, and Oliver soaked up the quiet.  The peace.  He let his face rest against her hair, his eyes closing as he breathed her in.  That citrus perfume that said ‘Felicity’ to him, and underneath, hints of her own natural fragrance.  Combining into a scent that made everything feel better.  

“Okay?” she asked softly, her lips brushing against his collarbone.  

“Yeah,” he answered just as softly.  He wrapped his arms around her and blew out a breath.  “I had no idea she noticed.”  He paused and swallowed.  “That makes it worse, you know?  If she hadn’t realized, I could tell myself that . . .”  

His voice trailed off, feeling too unsteady to actually say the words.  Felicity tilted her head back to look up at him.  “You could tell yourself that if she had known what you were going through, she would have helped.”  

He ducked his head before giving a short nod.  “Yeah.”  

Felicity kissed his jaw.  “I’m sorry.”  The words were simple, common-place.  But he could hear the feeling behind them.  He knew that she actually meant it.  That she cared about what he had gone through, that she wished it had been different, that she wanted to make him feel better.    

“Thank you,” he whispered, before he turned his head so he could kiss her.  

This kiss was slow and soft.  Gentle.  The longer their lips touched, the more he felt something inside himself, some small piece of himself, heal.  Grow strong again.   

That piece of himself felt so important, so vital.  And it was when he was with Felicity that he thought he almost knew what it was.  What it was about her that made him so aware of who he was, who he wanted to be.  The kind of man he could become.  

Her nose nuzzled against his.  “You’re going to be angry with your mother for a while,” she said softly, her eyes rising to meet his.  “Angry, disappointed, even vengeful.  It’s important to feel all that, Oliver.  But instead of pushing it down inside you and trying to ignore it, you need to find a way to confront and eliminate those negative emotions.”

“How--how do I do that?”  

She resumed the slow movements of her hands over his chest, soothing him as she spoke.  “You have options.  It might be getting some distance from her--like moving into your own place.  Or telling her how you feel and seeing how she responds.  Maybe talking to your sister about what happened.  But burying this . . . you don’t have to do that.  You’re stronger now.  You can handle whatever happens.”

Leaning his head back, Oliver breathed in and out, thinking over her words.  Wondering what he was going to do.  Not feeling sure.  

“I wish I didn’t have to spend so much time with her this weekend,” he admitted softly.  

“What’s happening this weekend?” Felicity asked, pressing a few kisses against the side of his neck.  They were supposed to comfort him, he knew--but they also made him want her.  

“Thea’s birthday party on Friday, and then some benefit on Sunday.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away,” he said, lowering his head to look at her.  “Looks like you’ll have the night to yourself.”  

An unhappy pout flashed across her face.  “Really?”  

Smiling a little, because Felicity pouting was adorable, he nodded.  “Yeah.  Helena might be there, too--Mom warned me about that today, too.”  

“Your mother has no sense of timing,” Felicity said, shifting on his lap to straddle him.  Her hands stroked his shoulders as his own went to her hips, slowly rubbing the silk of her slip against the silk of her skin.  “Throwing all that at you during one lunch?”  

“Felicity, I don’t want to talk about my mother anymore,” Oliver said as he slid one hand up her back and into her hair, pulling her in for a kiss.  

He could feel her smile against his lips, and then her hands started moving and her hips rolled against his cock and Oliver not only didn’t want to talk about his mother--he didn’t want to think about anything but Felicity.  Because if he was going to have to wait to see her again until a week from today, he wanted to make the most of their time together tonight.

XXX

If he had needed proof that he had changed since his early twenties, this weekend proved it for Oliver.  Because after Thea’s raging party on Friday and a night out with Tommy on Saturday, all he wanted to do was spend his Sunday sleeping.  Instead, the noise from everything being set up for the benefit meant that was impossible.  

He had used to be able to party all weekend--hell, he would party all the time.  The number of times he had woken up thinking it was Monday, only to discover it was any day but Monday, were too numerous to count.  But now, with his thirtieth birthday closer than his twenty-fifth, Oliver had realized that at some point, partying had stopped being fun.  

The night out with Tommy had been good, albeit boring.  He had tried to look at other women, searching for someone to attract his interest enough for him to talk to her, buy her a drink, make a connection that could lead somewhere.  But none of the women in the three clubs they visited caught his eye, and he had gone home alone while Tommy had scored with a redhead.  

Walking down the stairs to the foyer, Oliver rolled his shoulders in his tuxedo.  Even though he didn’t want to be here tonight, especially since it meant interacting with his mother, it was too late to back out.  And besides, he did feel strongly about the Widows’ and Orphans’ Fund, ever since Laurel.  

Thanks to his mother’s responsibilities as a board member, not to mention being the hostess, Oliver didn’t expect to have to talk to Moira until later in the evening--if at all.  So he did his best to mingle, talk up QC, and not drink too much.  

Happily, there was no sign of Helena at the party.  Her father was there, though.  Frank Bertinelli greeted Oliver coldly, the man clearly upset at Oliver breaking up with his daughter.  Although Oliver wasn’t sure if Bertinelli was upset because Helena was hurting or because the break-up might affect Bertinelli’s contracts with QC.  All in all, it was a conversation that Oliver was happy to end as quickly as possible.

After an hour, he was ready to start looking for a graceful way to leave.  Even with Tommy’s presence, time was passing too slowly.  They were standing at the back of the ballroom, making small talk and discussing how they could leave.  Tommy was in favor of getting Thea and taking her new car for a spin.  Oliver agreed that could be fun, while secretly wondering if there was any way he could see Felicity.  That is, if she didn’t mind him just showing--

The crowd parted for a moment, and he could have sworn he saw Felicity.  But that was just wishful thinking, because how could she be here?   _Why_  would she be here?

Yet even as his brain provided a dozen reasons why he was once again seeing Felicity when she wasn’t really there, his feet moved him towards the entrance of the ballroom where he thought he had seen her.  He barely took the time to tell Tommy he needed to talk to someone before he moved away.

And there she was.  

Although he almost didn’t believe it was Felicity.  Because she looked so different.  Admittedly, he had only seen her in lingerie, but . . . this wasn’t what he was expecting.

Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, all sleek and polished.  A pair of square-framed glasses perched on her nose, the whole librarian look offset by her bright pink lips.  A professional-looking black dress, with a knee-length, flared skirt, along with a pair of high black heels and a large black bag, completed her look.  

Oliver knew he was staring.  But . . . what the hell?  

Why was she here and why was she dressed like that?  So buttoned-up and conservative, like she was trying to not draw attention to herself.  

As he watched, Lew Smith--an old friend of his father’s and the captain of the SCPD--turned to Felicity and spoke quietly to her.  She pulled out a tablet, the same ultra-thin tablet he had seen Felicity use a dozen times, and tapped on the screen, before looking at the police captain and replying.  He nodded, turning back to the group of people clustered around him, while Felicity took a small step back.  She tucked her tablet back into her bag and then stood still, her face set in a blank but pleasant expression with her arms folded at her waist.

It was like she was his . . . his secretary or something.  

But why was she at his house, attending a gala with the captain of the Starling City Police Department, on a Sunday night?  Sundays were  _their_  nights.  

There were too many questions crowding his head.  Was this a job for her?  Had Captain Smith hired her for the night?  The irony of a policeman consorting with someone like Felicity didn’t escape Oliver’s notice.  Although at least the captain was a widower, so it wasn’t like he was adding adultery to his crimes.  Because . . . because hiring Felicity for the night was a crime.  A crime that the captain of a major metropolitan police department should not do.  

But Oliver didn’t really care about that.  Didn’t care about who Felicity was here with.  What he cared about was the fact she took advantage of him cancelling their appointment to set up another one.  

His hands curled into fists at his sides, struggling to cope with what was happening.  Trying to deal with the disappointment and anger and jealousy coursing through him.  

Intellectually, he could understand Felicity taking on another client when one cancelled.  He didn’t like to think about it, but she had a business to run.  But emotionally . . . he didn’t like it.  

Although maybe--maybe she was here for another reason?  Maybe she was related to Captain Smith, maybe he was an old friend of her family’s and he had invited her along to the event tonight.  That didn’t explain how she was dressed, but--but maybe this was just how Felicity looked when she was out in public?  

He knew he was looking for any explanation other than the most obvious one, the simplest one.  But Oliver didn’t care.  He didn’t want Felicity to be here with Captain Smith because he was paying her for it.  He didn’t want her to be here with anyone other than him.

Stepping towards the people gathered around the captain, Oliver kept himself to one side of Felicity and slightly behind her, so she wouldn’t immediately see him.  The captain was going on and on about how crime was dropping in the Glades, thanks to his new policies.  Harsh, draconian policies that had played well with the elite of Starling City, but not with the people who actually lived in the Glades.  

“ . . . the criminal element just flourishes there, like weeds.  And the best way to deal with weeds is to get them early on.  Rip them out, before they have a chance to set down roots and become invasive.”

Smith had always seemed like a blowhard to Oliver, but now he couldn’t help feeling like the man was an absolute ass.  

One woman, a friend of his mother’s, laughed airily.  “You act as if we know anything about gardening, Captain Smith.”  

The crowd chuckled with self-satisfied amusement, but Oliver’s jaw tightened and he didn’t join in.  The captain smiled at the woman.  “I hope the analogy still made sense, ma’am.  But in the last quarter, crime decreased--what was that number, Megan?”  

His body turned as he looked at Felicity, and Oliver did as well.  Why had he called her Megan?  Had Captain Smith actually brought a beautiful, charming, witty woman like Felicity into Starling City society and made her pretend to be his assistant?  

Felicity replied without having to check her tablet.  “Three point four percent, sir.”  Her voice was even, professional, unemotional.  LIke she was some robot, at the ready to provide whatever Smith needed.  

Oliver shoved his hands into his pockets, the urge to grab onto Felicity and pull her away nearly overwhelming him.  Was this what it was like for her?  With all her clients?  Was this what it was like with him?  She serviced him and didn’t care what she had to do in order to perform her function?  

God damn it, no.  That was  _not_  how they were.  Felicity was all warmth and caring and life when they were together.  He didn’t ask her to demean herself, and she wasn’t working from some script--she wasn’t a robot with him.  But he was damned if he was going to stay here and watch her do that with someone else.  Not without her knowing that he was here, too.  And that he didn’t like it.

The captain patted Felicity’s shoulder in a dismissive way before resuming his speech to the crowd.  But Oliver stopped paying attention to him.  He kept his eyes on Felicity as he moved, so he saw when her eyes flicked around and saw him.  Behind her glasses, her eyes widened, for the briefest of moments, before she looked straight at him.

Her face had lost its blank mask: her lips were parted and her eyes were filled with emotion.  Surprise, embarrassment and . . . regret?  But then, like a switch had been flicked, she wiped all of that away and leaned forward to whisper in the captain’s ear.  He looked annoyed but nodded, waving her away with one hand.  Felicity stepped back and turned away, walking towards the arched opening of the ballroom with steps that didn’t look hurried but covered a lot of ground.  

He let her take ten steps before he turned and followed her, his hands still shoved in his pockets as he attempted to amble towards the exit.  Acting casually but keeping her in his sights.  

She stepped into the foyer, looking around briefly before turning to the left.  Good.  That hallway not only led to a set of bathrooms--her intended destination, he guessed--but his father’s old study was there, only two doors down from the bathroom.  

Just before she turned to step into the facilities, Oliver reached out and wrapped his fingers lightly around her wrist.  Without a word, he pulled her along to the door of the study, shooting her a look as he unlocked the door.  Felicity’s eyes were snapping with anger, but she pressed her lips together and stayed silent until he ushered her inside and closed the door behind them.

The curtains were open, allowing moonlight and some of the security lighting on the exterior of the mansion to lighten the darkness.  But there were enough pools of shadowy darkness that this felt intimate.  Secret.  Illicit.  

“Oliver, you cannot--”  

It had been nearly four days since he had touched her.  And he hated that he almost knew to the minute how long it had been since their last kiss.  Because he knew he was getting out of control, knew she was going to be angry with him.  But right now, they were alone, in a dark room, and no one knew they were here.  So Oliver stopped her from saying anything more by pressing her back against the door and kissing her hungrily.  

At first, she didn’t respond.  Didn’t kiss him back, didn’t melt against him like she always did.  That was enough for reason to pierce through his emotions, enough for him to start to pull back.  But then her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in as she deepened the kiss.  

Groaning against her mouth, Oliver ran his hands up and down her sides, brushing against her breasts and over her hips before moving them up to her face.  With that ponytail, he couldn’t twist his fingers in her hair--but when he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushed against her jaw as his fingers teased her hairline over her slender neck, and the contrast of textures felt amazing.  Her glasses jabbed him in the nose until he tilted his head enough to avoid them, using his hands to help adjust her face.  

Felicity might look different from what he was used to, but she was still beautiful to him.  And he hoped this kiss told her that.  

Her teeth nipped at his lower lip and Oliver paused the kiss, letting his forehead lean against hers as he panted.  God, he was so addicted to kissing her.  

“Felicity,” he murmured, kissing her again.  Slowly, tenderly.  One hand slid to cup the back of her head, feeling her ponytail brush against her fingers, while his other hand moved to her back, drifting down to cup one round, perfect cheek of her ass.  “You make me so hot.  I need you so much--come upstairs with me.  To my room.”  

Being so close to her, Oliver immediately felt the tension that entered her frame before he had even finished speaking.  She pulled away from him, her hands dropping from the back of his neck to spread against his chest.  “Wait--Oliver, stop,” she said quietly but firmly.  

“What--what is it?” he asked, lifting his head.  

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “What are you doing here?”  

He frowned.  “Attending the benefit my mother is hosting?  The one I told you about, the one that is being held at my house?”

“No!” Felicity snapped, pushing against his chest and holding him at arm’s length from her.  “What are you doing, pulling me into this room and kissing me?”  

“Isn’t it obvious?” Oliver asked, feeling stung.  “I haven’t seen you since Wednesday--I missed--”  He stopped, feeling self-conscious.  Not wanting to fully reveal himself.  But then . . . she was smart.  A genius.  She knew what he had started to say.  So he might as well finish it, especially since it was the truth.  “I missed you,” he said quietly.

She scoffed under her breath, shaking her head and pushing him far enough away that she could get out from between him and the door.  “Enough to manhandle me like this?  I don’t know what kind of arrangement you think we have, Oliver, but this is not acceptable behavior.  Not when I’m here--”  

“When you’re here, working?” he interrupted, stepping towards her.  Hearing the ugly note in his voice and hating it.  Knowing he was fucking everything up, but just unable to get over the idea of Felicity with another man.  “Is that why you’re dressed like this?  Like a secretary?  Asked for a little role play tonight?” 

His words hung in the air, each one as heavy as a brick.  Oliver felt his heart squeeze in his chest at the way Felicity’s face went pale.  But then her chin went up.  “I have other clients, Oliver,” she said, her voice low and full of barely-restrained anger.  “You don’t get to tell me what to do.  And by dragging me in here, you have jeopardized  _everything_  for me.”  

What?  What did that mean?  Was she in some kind of trouble?  Or . . . or did she just mean he was risking what existed between them?

Swallowing, Oliver tried to hold on to his jealousy.  Tried to remember that he didn’t want her to be with anyone but him.  “But why are you here, at my house, when you knew I would be here, too?”

He wanted to sound angry.  But instead, his voice shook, the sadness and hurt obvious.  Because yes, he was so jealous he couldn’t see straight.  He hated thinking of Felicity with other men, men that didn’t care about her, men who saw her only as a set of tits and an ass, who only wanted her mouth and her pussy.  

Not when he wanted her, not when he looked at her and saw  _Felicity_.  Her smiles and her laughter.  Her silly, nerdy jokes that he didn’t understand, her bottomless eyes that made him feel safe and content and strong.  The little hints she gave about who she really was, the way her lipstick was always perfect and she really, really liked wasabi and was allergic to peanuts . . .

As much as he could, he knew Felicity.  He thought she had let him get close because she liked him.  Yes, he was a client, but, still . . . there was something between them.  Something different.  He knew it.  

And the thought that she didn’t understand what he saw when he looked at her, the idea that she thought of him like all her other clients--it fucking hurt.  It hurt more than the jealousy.

“Don’t go with him,” Oliver said, ignoring how Felicity stepped back when he approached her.  “Go tell him you have to leave early, give him his money back--just, please, Felicity, don’t stay with him for the rest of the night.”  

“I can’t do that, Oliver,” she hissed, nearly glaring at him.  “All I have is my reputation, and I can’t afford anything that gets someone like  _the captain of the police department_  angry with me.”

Oliver ran a hand through his hair, his frustration rising.  Didn’t she understand what was happening here?  Now he realized why he had refused to let himself think about any of her other clients--subconsciously, he must have known that something about her would make him into a green-eyed monster.  But seeing her with another man, knowing what they were going to do later, was so much worse.  He had already revealed too much about what he felt by showing her how betrayed he felt by her taking another client on their night.  He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he had to maintain something of himself.  Keep himself from being totally at her mercy.  Especially since it looked more and more like he had this all wrong.  That he was no different from any other client. 

But before he had even finished the thought, he blurted out what he had wanted to say the minute she stopped talking.

“If your reputation matters so much, why the fuck did you kiss me back, then?  As soon as I touched you, why didn’t you pull away and get out of here?”  

Felicity’s eyes widened behind her glasses.  Her hand fluttered to her face to push them up and she pressed her lips together.  She took another step back, and Oliver let her.  

“I--I have to go,” she muttered.  “Please . . . please don’t follow me.”  

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen tonight.  He didn’t want her to leave like this.  But what could he do?  He had already made enough of a mess of things.  So Oliver shoved his hands into his pants pockets and lowered his head.  “I won’t.”  

He didn’t watch her go.  He just waited until he heard the sound of the door closing behind her before he turned away from the door, pacing until he misjudged where he was and ran into a sofa.  A stabbing pain lanced through his foot, and he cursed loudly and angrily.  

Wishing that the physical pain was enough to overcome his emotional pain.  Because he had to face the thought of never seeing Felicity again.

End, Chapter 7


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of readers speculated after last week’s chapter that there was something going on with Felicity attending the gala with the police captain. There were some really interesting ideas, but I’m sad to say that I’m not that original. :-) This is still Starling City, a corrupt city with a lot of socio-economic woes. It’s not that surprising that the captain of the police force would want to hire a dominatrix. What is surprising is that he wanted such a pedestrian roleplay as boss/secretary.
> 
> I’m equal parts nervous and excited to post this chapter. I hope it’s worth all the anticipation! Thanks to callistawolf, closer2fine and fanmommer for cheerleading.

 

In some ways, Oliver supposed he should be surprised at how quickly things could change.  How little it took to knock you off balance, to totally disrupt your equilibrium.  

But really, he wasn’t that surprised.  Because with how much time over the last six weeks he had spent thinking about Felicity, a fight with her was bound to make him feel like his whole life had been upended.  It made him realize how wrapped up in her he had become.  

Not that he regretted it, but he was seeing now that perhaps all the progress he thought he had made had only been partly real.  That a lot of what he had achieved was due to Felicity, and not himself.  And now that she was angry at him, now that he had fucked things up . . . he was having to figure this out on his own.  And that made him feel like he was back in those dark days, before he met her, when he hadn’t even realized how lost and floundering he had been.

Oliver was remembering those days now.  And doing everything he could to not fall back into that hole.  Or not create a new hole, one where he acted like an asshole.

Honestly, he was ashamed of his behavior.  For letting himself get carried away, for letting his jealousy control him.  He should have never let things go as far as they had.  And while he darkly acknowledged that at least he hadn’t shoved down his emotions on Sunday night, he hadn’t exactly dealt with them in a positive manner, either.  No, he had just lashed out at Felicity, acting like she was at fault for how he was feeling.  Which wasn’t true or fair.  

All he wanted was a chance to apologize to Felicity.  With how he had left things, though, he wasn’t sure what came next.  Was everything over between them?  Or should he show up on Wednesday as scheduled and they could talk then?  He knew that almost all of the blame was on him: for dragging her away from her client, for acting jealous, for not remembering the rules.  Not the ones they had gone over about safe words and consent: the unspoken ones.  About how this was a business arrangement, first and foremost.  That however easy and comfortable and good it felt with Felicity, it didn’t mean he could take more than she was willing to give.

It wasn’t until Wednesday morning that he worked up the courage to send her a text.  And even that was a bit of a cowardly move--he should call her, he knew.  But if she was going to tell him that he should never come back, it seemed like it would be easier to read that in a text than to hear it, to know how her voice sounded when she told him they were done.  Because he was sure he would then hear those words over and over in his nightmares.    

So he sent her a text that he agonized over for a solid half-hour.  He typed and deleted his words so many times, he began losing any and all sense of the English language.  Finally, out of disgust, he managed to put together something he thought would work:

_Very sorry for my behavior. Can I apologize in person tonight?_

The wait for Felicity’s reply felt like an eternity--but was really only five minutes.  And her response both lifted him with hope and sent him into the depths of despair.

_Not yet. Thank you for the apology._

For a moment, he wondered if she had said ‘not yet’ because he had used ‘can’ instead of ‘may’--an error he had caught after he pressed send.  Which was ridiculous, he knew, but he was grasping at straws here.  Because what did ‘not yet’ mean?

The rest of the week passed slowly, as he tried to understand what Felicity had meant while he did his best to adjust and take stock of his life.  Working to find some balance and to grasp what exactly what were the negative emotions that Felicity had talked about.  Late at night, he found himself on the computer in his study, not working but researching.  Reading and thinking about different possibilities, wanting to find methods to release the emotions that led him to bad choices.  

What he learned made him wish, more and more, that he hadn’t acted like such an asshole on Sunday.  Because he was pretty sure that the ideas he had to let go of those ‘bad’ emotions would require Felicity’s help.  

The late nights after long days at the office, with his mind working overtime all the time, left him grumpy and withdrawn.  It was only a matter of time before his family began to notice.  At breakfast every morning, Oliver saw the looks Thea had kept sending him when she thought he hadn’t been looking.  He noticed the slight frown that had appeared on his mother’s face when he had given her one-word answers.  While he was still mad and heartbroken from his conversation with Moira last week, but since he wasn’t ready to tell her that, this was the new status quo.  At least, until his mother passed him the paper on Friday morning.

“Do you suppose we should issue a statement?” was never a good sentence to hear first thing in the morning.  And when he read the article, he felt his annoyance rise.  

_Helena’s Heartbreak: Struggling to Know Why!_  screamed the headline in the  _Starling City Times_ , the most sensationalistic of the city’s three newspapers.  The photos that accompanied the article were even worse: Helena, looking wan and forlorn, her natural fairness emphasized to the point of paleness.

Even though he knew he wouldn’t like what he would read, Oliver made himself skim the article before handing the paper back to his mother.  “No, I don’t want to make a statement.”  

“Oliver, she’s painting you as some kind of heartbreaker, which we all know couldn’t be farther from the truth.  You need to go on the offensive.”  

“And make it look like I’m attacking a heartbroken woman?  Helena can’t keep milking this for much longer,” Oliver snapped.  “Just let it die of its own accord.”

Moira opened her mouth, but Thea stepped in.  “Ollie’s right.  Helena’s a bitch; eventually the press will remember that.”  

“Thea,” their mother said, but Thea ignored her and turned to Oliver.

“How about you drive me to school?”  

Oliver felt his lips quirk up in a smile.  “You’re willing to be seen with your lame older brother?  And don’t you have a brand-new car?”  

“It’s getting detailed today.  Gotta look good for the weekend,” Thea replied cheekily.  But the way she rested her hand on his arm told Oliver that she was doing this for him.  To rescue him from his mother, to give him something else to think about, to be someone who wouldn’t bury him under expectations or questions.  

All of which was appreciated.  So Oliver nodded and smiled.  “Okay, Speedy.  I’ll drop you off.  Do you need me to pick you up, too?”  

“Nope, I’m all set.”  His sister hopped up and kissed Moira’s cheek goodbye.  “Meet me in the foyer in five?”  

“You got it,” he said as Thea dashed off.  Once she was gone, Oliver looked at Moira, whose lips were pursed.  

“You don’t agree with letting it go,” Oliver commented, rising to his feet and pulling on his suit jacket.  

His mother shook her head, looking up at him.  “No, I don’t.  Because any woman who is willing to play the victim is usually anything but--and is just waiting for the right time to strike back.  And I don’t want Helena to hurt you.”  

He tugged on his shirt cuffs, buying himself a minute before he said anything.  Because it was on the tip of his tongue to argue that Moira had hurt him more than Helena ever could.  But Oliver knew now wasn’t the time.  Not only because Thea was waiting, but because he still didn’t know what he wanted to say to his mother.  

Instead of answering her, he patted her shoulder.  “I’ll see you later, Mom.”  And without anything else, he turned and headed towards the foyer, smiling a little as he saw Thea waiting for him.  

“Thanks for the save, Speedy.”  

“Oh, don’t speak too soon, big brother,” Thea teased, a mischievous smile flashing across her face before she grew serious.  “Seriously, Ollie, what’s going on with you?”

In the past, he would have brushed aside Thea’s concern.  Told her it was nothing, that he was fine.  But now . . . he was trying to be different.  Trying to make his relationship with his sister better, trying to be a better brother to her by showing her his real self.  Not that he was entirely sure who that was, but he could attempt to let down his walls a little.  

“Let’s talk about it in the car,” he said, ushering her out of the house and towards the garage.  

Part of him almost hoped Thea might let it go, but once they were in the car and he was driving down the long, sweeping road that led to the front gate, he could feel the weight of her eyes on him.  “Okay, we’re in the car.  So spill, Ollie--what’s got you in such a bad mood this week?”  

If he wanted to, he could just tell Thea that he was fighting with their mother.  It was the truth and would certainly explain his actions this week.  But he knew, as much as the situation with Moira was weighing on him, that it wasn’t the true problem.  Yet with his sister’s question, Oliver had another one: how honest should he be with Thea?  Of course he wasn’t going to tell her the truth about Felicity; Thea might be an adult in the eyes of the law, but the last thing he was willing to do was expose his baby sister to the darker side of his sex life.  

But . . . he sensed that part of the problem were due to the essential differences between himself and Felicity.  She was a woman and he was a man and he had never claimed to have even a faint understanding of the female mind.  The female body, yes--but not their minds.  

Perhaps Thea could make a suggestion to him, one that might help.  

“It’s . . . I met someone,” Oliver admitted slowly.  

Glancing over at Thea, he saw the way her face had lit up.  “Really?  Who?  How did you meet her?”  

“Easy, Speedy,” he said, rubbing his hands against the steering wheel.  “You’re getting excited over nothing.”  

“Not nothing,” Thea argued.  “C’mon, what’s her name?”  

In for a penny, in for a pound.  His father had always used to say that.  Oliver felt his lips turn up in a sad smile before he spoke quietly.  “Felicity.”  

There was silence for a moment as Thea took that in.  “It’s a pretty name.  So?  You like her?”

It was such an innocent question.  One that made him think of more innocent times, when it was as simple as meeting someone--in a bar, at school, at work--and wanting to get to know them better.  Nothing involving his relationship (such as it was) with Felicity was simple or innocent.  But he could answer Thea’s question if it meant she would help him.

“Yeah,” he said, ducking his head for a moment as he drew to a stop at a red light.  “Yeah, I like her.”

“I can tell.  Your voice gets softer when you talk about her,” Thea said, twisting in her seat to look at him.  “So what stupid thing did you do?”  

Oliver huffed out a laugh.  “What makes you think it’s my fault?”

“Other than you’re my brother and you’re kinda dumb?”  She grinned.  “Because you’re doing your whole sad, brooding routine.  When something hasn’t gone right, you get lost in your head while you try to figure things out.”

“Ah,” Oliver muttered, looking out the windshield as he pulled away from the stoplight.  

“Which is great--you are so strong, Ollie,” Thea said, reaching out to rest her hand on his arm.  “It’s admirable that you try to work stuff out on your own.  But there’s nothing wrong with needing help.  And . . . and you need someone.  You need to let someone in.  Someone better than Helena.  I bet this Felicity is, though.”

Glancing over at Thea, Oliver noticed how her face looked thinner, the last of her baby fat having melted away at some point.  She was starting to look like an adult, like a woman.  It was disconcerting . . . but also amazing.  He could still remember the day Thea was born, and now, here she was, nearly done with high school, planning her future . . . and worrying about him.  Even with her jokes and teasing, he could see that Thea was concerned, from the look in her eyes and her wrinkled brow to the way she hadn’t let go of his arm.

His mother thought that knowing she worried about him would have made things more difficult for Oliver.  But that wasn’t true.  Knowing that people worried about him meant that those people cared about him.  It meant they wanted him to be all right.    

“I messed up.  I . . . I got jealous,” he confessed.  “Made an ass out of myself.  Now she’s angry at me, and I don’t know if she’s going to forgive me.”

“It’s not like you to get jealous,” Thea said softly.  

Nodding, Oliver pulled up in front of her school, choosing to park the car instead of blocking traffic in the driveway.  “I know,” he replied.  “But this . . . it’s all new to me.”  

Thea returned his nod, dropping her hand from his arm to lift her bag from the floor of the car.  “You know what I think?” she asked as she slung the bag over her shoulder.  Not waiting for him to say anything in response, she turned to face him again.  “I think you should just go see her and tell her you’re sorry.”  

He huffed out a half-laugh.  “It’s as easy as that?”  

“It’s a start,” she said, shrugging a shoulder.  “And it goes a long way--an apology, I mean.”

Something about her words hit home.  Maybe it was because Thea was still young, could see things without previous bad experiences coloring her judgment.  But she also had a kind of optimism that Oliver didn’t think he had ever possessed, not even when he was her age.

Leaning over, he pressed a kiss against the top of her head.  “I’ll give it a try.  Thank you, Thea.”  

“About time you start listening to me.  I got mad skills, bro,” she teased, looking up at him with a sparkle in her eyes.  

With a snort, Oliver gave her a gentle push.  “You’re gonna be late for school.” 

“You know, I’m a senior.  I’m graduating in, like, twenty-seven days.  I could totally play hooky,” Thea said, batting her eyelashes at him.  “And you’re a grown-up.  You can do whatever you want.  Don’t you ever wanna just not do what you’re supposed to do, Ollie?”

If only Thea knew.  Oliver gave her a small smile and nodded.  “I do.  But then I remember everyone that’s depending on me, and that makes me want to go to work.  Makes me want to be responsible.  Because I have a lot to make up for.  A lot of irresponsibility.”  

“Doesn’t mean you still don’t deserve to have fun,” Thea pointed out as she opened the car door.  “But I hear you.  See you later, Ollie.”  

“Bye, Speedy,” he said, watching as she closed the door with a slam and sauntered towards the school’s main building.  

Oliver didn’t sit there and wait until she vanished through the entry doors because he didn’t trust her.  No, he did it because he was lost in thought, mulling over what his sister had told him.  About an apology being a good place to start, about playing hooky, about responsibility.  

Well, all right--he did have a bit of doubt about Thea not going into school unless he stayed to watch her walk in.  After all, she  _was_  his sister.  And he and Tommy had been masters at skipping school.

XXX

As the day went on, Oliver found himself contemplating Thea’s advice and Felicity’s text.  Wondering if he should contact Felicity again.  Maybe this time he could call her.  Give her an apology over the phone, so she could hear the regret and sincerity in his voice.  He was still learning to really express his emotions, but he was so sorry for what he had done that he just knew it had to be obvious.  Wasn’t it?  

Yet he was no closer to a decision when his phone rang at seven, just as he was leaving his office and walking to the elevator.  He glanced at the display as he swiped his thumb across the screen, then stood stock-still as he realized it was Felicity calling him.  

“Hello?  Hello?”  Felicity’s voice through the speaker was tinny and soft, but there was some kind of emotion in her voice that he couldn’t quite discern.  Maybe worry?  

Oh.  Because he hadn’t answered.  Because he was staring at the screen instead of saying anything.  Because he was so shocked at Felicity calling him.  Putting the phone to his ear, Oliver spoke quickly.  “Hello--I’m here.  I mean, hello, this is Oliver.”

“Hi.  It’s Felicity.”  

Oliver pressed the phone hard to his ear, desperate to hear every single nuance of her voice.  Wanting to fix this so badly, feeling the need for her like an ache in his bones: constant, never-ending, and painful.  

“Felicity,” he said softly.  “It’s good to hear from you.”  

“Yes, well . . .”  Her words trailed off, and he couldn’t help thinking she seemed nervous.  And that was so new.  Felicity never seemed nervous, never seemed uncertain.  Except for that moment on Sunday night, when he had asked her why she had kissed him back after he dragged her into his father’s study.

“I appreciate that you listened to me.  When I told you not to follow me, when I told you ‘not yet’.  Some men have . . . well, I don’t keep John around just because he introduced me to Big Belly Burger and is really handy with a wrench,” Felicity said, talking a bit fast for her.  “That’s why I wanted to call you.”  

His blood ran cold at the thought of those men who hadn’t taken no for an answer.  The ones that made her have to hire a bodyguard.  But if he went down that path, he would get distracted from what was more important.

Felicity had called  _him_.  She had reached out to  _him_.  

Swallowing, he spoke around the lump in his throat.  “I . . . I was actually thinking about calling you.  But I didn’t know what to say, other than ‘I’m sorry’.  Which I am--I am so sorry, Felicity, for what I did.”  

There was a long pause, and then Felicity spoke quietly.  “I believe you, Oliver.”  

Now that lump had grown even larger and he just--he didn’t even have the words to push past it.  Because the relief, the feeling that maybe he hadn’t totally fucked this up, was so overwhelming that he felt a bit light-headed.  And he didn’t know why he was reacting so strongly to her believing him, but he was and it just felt so good to have her accept his apology.  Or at least for her to accept that he meant his apology.

“T-thank you.”  

“You’re welcome,” she replied, her voice still quiet and somewhat shy.  “I--I was hoping you hadn’t made plans for Sunday night.  I think we need to talk.  Not in a bad way, not in the way people mean when they say ‘we need to talk’, because usually that means something is over.  And--and I don’t want this to be over, Oliver, I--”  

She stopped, with a noise that almost sounded like a gasp.  But before he could ask her if she was okay, Felicity began talking again.  “I think you deserve an explanation, for how I reacted.  And I’d like to know what you were thinking, too.  I want things to be clear, going forward.  So . . . Sunday?”  

“Yes,” he breathed out.  “Yes, I’m free Sunday.  Is seven okay?”  

“Seven is good.  Seven is perfect.”  She sounded as breathless as he felt.  “See you then, Oliver.”  

“Bye, Felicity,” he said, just before there was a click and his phone beeped, indicating that the call had ended.  

In a daze, he tucked his phone into his pocket and kept walking towards the elevator.  But instead of a slow trudge, now he was practically floating.  Because . . . Felicity had called him.  She had called him and had actually babbled, like she used to do before she trained herself to count to three.  But clearly, there had been no stopping to think before she spoke in that phone call:  it was like she was saying whatever she was thinking.  Or feeling.  

Had she missed him like he had missed her?  Did that explain how she was just now, did that explain why she had called him?  

Oliver didn’t know.  But he hoped to find out on Sunday.  If he managed to get through the next forty-eight hours without his family checking him into the hospital to figure out why he couldn’t stop smiling.  

XXX

To say Oliver was emotional was such a massive understatement, it was like claiming that the Bugatti Veyron was a little bit fast.  Because over the last two days, he had swung between excitement and anxiety and back again enough that he felt like one of those amusement park rides, the ones that were always called Pirate Ship and swung a carriage of screaming people back and forth like a pendulum.  

Giving his head a shake as he slipped into the Starling Grand, Oliver took a few deep breaths.  He had to calm down.  Just because Felicity had called him, just because she wanted to talk, didn’t mean that this conversation was going to be easy or a walk in the park.  They needed to have a serious discussion and there was no guarantee they could repair the damage.  

But God, he hoped they could.  Because he knew he still needed her help--and he wanted more time with Felicity.  So he had to keep his emotions somewhat in check, be rational and mature so she would know that he could be trusted.  Just because he paid her for her time didn’t mean he got her trust as part of the contract.  

If nothing else, it felt good to take the elevator to Felicity’s floor, to walk down the hallway and knock on her door.  It wasn’t a routine, a banal habit--more like setting the stage for whatever tonight would bring.  

Oliver hoped it would be good things.  

Taking another breath when he heard a rustle behind the door, Oliver also hoped he was prepared for whatever happened.  

But seeing Felicity gave him a shot of confidence that he hadn’t expected.  Especially with the small smile on her face.  

For only the second time since he had met her, Felicity was wearing clothes.  But instead of the secretary look, it was softer.  She wore a black and white print dress, one that didn’t show off her cleavage and fell to a somewhat modest point on her thighs.  She was wearing heels, as usual, but they certainly weren’t as high and flashy as the heels he normally saw her wear.  Her hair was loose and wavy, yet she was wearing the same pair of glasses she wore a week ago.  

So Felicity wore glasses?  He wasn’t expecting to discover they had been real.  But he liked them.  He liked that she was giving him a clear sign that--

Well, he wasn’t sure.  But she had definitely chosen to wear her glasses tonight for a reason, and he would like to find out.  

“Hi,” he said softly, unable to help the smile that appeared on his face.  Because it was good to see her, good to be in the same space with her.  More than good, in fact--it was everything.  

“Hi,” she said, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek.  “Please, come in.”  

Nodding, Oliver stepped around her, still feeling the tingle of her lips against his skin.  He slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, a slightly-awkward feeling settling over him.  

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, pushing her glasses up a little.  “I have coffee, tea, water . . .”  

Knowing that alcohol probably wasn’t the best idea, Oliver asked for coffee and took a seat.  Felicity moved into the small kitchen, pouring them each a mug of coffee and joining him on the couch.  

She was quiet.  More withdrawn than she had ever been with him, Oliver thought as he took a sip of coffee.  It was interesting, to sit here in silence with Felicity.  They had certainly done it before, but usually it was post-coital.  

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, noticing how her hands were wrapped around her mug, her elbows resting on her knees.  Felicity was normally a sprawler, but today she was sitting in a very contained fashion.  

All told, he couldn’t help thinking Felicity was just as nervous about this as he was.  Maybe like him, she didn’t know where to start.  Although he did have one idea.

“I’m sorry.”  

His words were quiet, yet they seemed very loud.  Because Felicity’s head whipped around and her eyes locked on him when he spoke.  

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, turning his head to look at her.  “I shouldn’t have dragged you away like I did, I shouldn’t have acted like a jealous asshole.  I was wrong.”  

“Why?”  

Oliver frowned.  “Why?”  

“Yes, why?” Felicity asked, turning her whole body and tucking a leg underneath herself as she faced him.  “Why did you act that way?  It . . . it was so surprising, so unexpected, I had trouble adjusting.”  

“You really don’t have any idea?” Oliver countered, raising his eyebrows.  Feeling a touch of frustration flare inside him, not understanding why she seemed so blind to what he was feeling.  Normally she was eerily attuned to him.  “You were at my house, completely out of the blue, and it was Sunday.  The night we normally spend together.”  

Felicity’s voice was even, but there was a snap in her eyes that spoke to something close to anger.  “You weren’t available on Sunday.  That doesn’t mean I sit at home like a girl who didn’t get asked to prom.  This is a business to me, Oliver.”  

The last thing he wanted was for either of them to get mad.  Oliver looked at her, searching her face.  Trying to understand her, trying to keep this from becoming a fight.  

“I was surprised,” Oliver explained, choosing his words carefully.  “Just like you were.  I didn’t expect to see you there.  Especially not with someone else.”  He swallowed.  “I’ll admit that . . . I’ve tried not to think about the fact that this is a business for you.  That--that you see other men than me.  So Sunday night--I was surprised.”  

“You . . . you didn’t just seem surprised,” Felicity commented gently.  She moved her coffee into one hand and rested her free hand on his knee.  This was more like the Felicity he expected, but that didn’t make this any easier to talk about.  

“No . . . I was jealous.  Seeing you with someone else.”  

She nodded slowly, her fingers rubbing his knee.  “I’m sorry, too,” she said, ducking her head a little.  “I should have told you I was going to be there.  That’s not like me.  But this opportunity came together quickly--I wasn’t as prepared as I normally am.”  

He took a deep breath, feeling a knot in his chest loosen.  A knot he hadn’t even been fully aware of.  He hadn’t expected Felicity to apologize--but it felt damn good.  To hear her admit to being partially at fault for what had happened on Sunday night.  

“Can I--can I ask why you weren’t prepared?” Oliver ventured hesitantly.  

Shrugging one shoulder, she took a sip of coffee.  “It all happened last minute.  And some clients don’t like being told something is too difficult to accomplish.  That you don’t have the time or resources needed to do what they want.  They think you’re trying to take them for more money.”

That made sense.  Especially in the case of Lew Smith, Oliver thought.  That seemed like his kind of reaction.  

Lifting his mug and taking another sip of coffee, Oliver felt his curiosity prodding him.  Wanting him to ask Felicity why she had taken on a police captain as a client, wanting to ask why she had come to the party as his secretary, and really wanting to ask why she had kissed him back.  

Two of those questions, though, were none of his business.  If Felicity had asked him questions about what companies QC were going to acquire or wanting to know their internal hiring policies, he would have told her that it was information he couldn’t reveal.  He felt like it was the same thing with her.  After all, she had never mentioned any of her other clients to him, never told him anything about which nights she didn’t work and which she did, beyond the evenings she spent with him.  

There was a difference between knowing that Felicity entertained other men and having the full pictures with all the details.  He wouldn’t get those kind of details from her, and as long as he remembered that he wasn’t the only man in her life . . . well, that was something he would have to live with.  If he wanted to keep seeing Felicity.

And he did.  Nothing had happened so far to change his mind on that.  

Although . . . that third question?  That was something he could ask her.  But maybe not tonight.

Oliver looked at Felicity and took a breath.  “I shouldn’t have interfered with your business.  I hope I didn’t cause you any problems.”

She gave him a small smile and patted his knee.  “It was fine, Oliver.  This--this isn’t the first time this kind of thing has happened, I just didn’t expect it to happen with you.  Because you’re a really good man, Oliver.  You’re decent and kind and thoughtful.”  

His cheeks flushed and he looked away from her.  Needing a moment so he wouldn’t reach out and pull her into his lap, kiss her and never let her go.  

“Hey,” she said softly, squeezing his knee.  

Slowly, Oliver met Felicity’s eyes.  She gave him a smile: small and soft.  “I appreciate your apology, and I accept it.  I forgive you.  But I need to warn you.”  Her smile faded a little before she pressed on.  “If anything like this happens again?  I won’t be able to forgive you.  Because jealousy, it happens when you think you own something or someone.  And you don’t own me, Oliver.”  

He cleared his throat.  “I know that, Felicity.  And whatever last week was, it wasn’t about ownership.”

“You’re not the first man to get jealous or envious,” she said, tilting her head to one side.  “It’s always about wanting what someone else has.  Wanting to possess it, wanting to own it.”  

For a long moment, he looked at her.  Wondered what would happen if he told her he had gotten jealous not simply because he wanted her and someone else had her.  But because of how he felt about her.  Because he cared about her.  He wanted to keep her safe, wanted her to be around people who appreciated and valued her.  Not for the pleasure she could give them, but for who she was.    

But looking at her right now, seeing the quirk of her lips and the shine in her eyes, Oliver knew his words were just too honest.  Too real.  And he wasn’t ready to be that honest with her--and she wasn’t ready for him to say something so real.  

“Maybe,” he acknowledged.  “But I know I could never own you.”  

At his words, a wide, pleased smile appeared on Felicity’s face.  It was like a punch in the gut, seeing her smile at him so freely.  Oliver actually took a deep breath before he returned the smile.  “So . . . we’re okay?”  

Felicity nodded.  “Yeah, we’re good.”  

Her smile staying in place and her eyes locked on his, Felicity leaned forward to set her coffee mug on the table in front of the sofa.  Then she slowly lifted herself up onto her knees, crawling towards him.  

His heart started racing as she drew close to him and he distractedly set his own mug aside, just as she swung one leg over his lap to straddle him.  His eyes dropped to her thighs, wanting to rest his hands there and then slide them up her legs, under her skirt.  Feel her smooth skin, the warm heat of her body, the titillation of her flirty dress mixing with the seriousness of her glasses, all combining to turn him on in an all-new way.  

After going a week without her, Oliver felt like he was going to explode.  Especially when Felicity, once she was holding herself over his lap, didn’t do anything more than rest her hands on his shoulders.

Oliver met her eyes and swallowed.  He watched her eyes drop to his throat, her tongue flashing out to lick her lips, and he couldn’t help himself: he reached out and grasped her hips gently.  “Felicity,” he said, loving the sound of her name on his lips.

“Oliver,” she whispered, moving closer to him.  Now her lips were so close to his and he could feel her breath washing over her lips.  Could see her eyes moving behind her glasses, could feel the tension of anticipation that tightened her body under his hands.  That scent of oranges about her filled his nose and made him breathe deeply..

She was close enough to taste and he wasn’t moving.  

The hell to that, though.  

His hands gripped her hips a little bit harder as Oliver pressed his lips to hers.  And there was no hesitation in her like there had been in their last kiss.  Just immediate response:  her lips moving against his, her head tilting a little to the side so her glasses didn’t poke him in the face, her hands twisting in his shirt.  He let out a small moan against her lips, feeling like everything made sense again, for the first time in a week.  

Her lips parted against his and he slid his tongue into her mouth, his hands moving up to cup her face.  He loved to cup her face as he kissed her, like he was protecting her and cherishing her.  And he thought Felicity liked it, too, when she took one hand and stroked up and down his arm, from wrist to elbow.  

“Mmmmm,” he hummed against her lips, tugging her a bit closer.  She obliged, wiggling closer to him and resting against his chest as they broke the kiss.  

Breathing deeply, Oliver wrapped his arms around her tightly.  Felicity relaxed against him, her head on his shoulder and her lips brushing against his jaw and neck.  One of her hands rubbed his shoulder, while the other stroked his side.  

“That felt good,” he said softly, turning his head to kiss her temple.  

“Yeah,” she said, giggling softly.  She nuzzled his jaw.  “So . . . what have you been up to?”  

“Mostly my normal routine,” he said, smoothing his hands over her back.  Feeling a flutter of awareness at how small she was, how his hands must nearly cover her entire back.  “Work . . . gym . . . charity stuff . . . time with Thea.”  

She nodded.  “What about your mom?”  

“Haven’t talked to her yet,” Oliver admitted.  “She knows I’m not happy with her, but she hasn’t pushed me to talk.  And this week, I was focusing on other things.”  

Lifting her head, Felicity fixed her eyes on his.  “Like what?”  

He licked his lips, noticing how her gaze flicked to his mouth for a split-second before refocusing.  “Well . . . I did some research.  Trying to figure out what I should be working on.”  

“Yeah?” Felicity asked, her forehead wrinkling a little.  

“Yeah,” he confirmed.  “I just . . . I just wanted to learn.  And I picked up some interesting things.  Got some ideas.”  

Felicity wiggled a little and he loosened his arms around her, letting her push herself up from his chest.  She sat back on his knees, looking at him.  “You want to talk to me about it?  I’d like to know what you’re thinking.”

“I did want to talk to you about it . . .” he said slowly.  

“So what are you thinking?” she asked before smiling quickly, one of her hands stroking his neck.  

Something seemed off.  Felicity was really latching on to this--acting like she was upset he had done research on his own.  “Are you worried I’ve gotten the wrong idea?” he asked.  

A sheepish look flashed across her face.  “Sorry.  I hate mysteries, and you’re acting a little bit cagey?  So all my alarms are going off.”  

Oliver laughed, some of the worry draining away.  “I didn’t mean to be cagey . . . I’m just trying to figure out how to ask you for something.”  

“Oh!”  Felicity grinned at him.  “You know you can ask me anything.”  Her grin suddenly faded, her face growing serious.  “You know that, right?”  

“I do,” he reassured her, keeping his eyes on hers as he considered just what to say.

With what had happened, he had wanted to be sure before he asked her about one of his ideas.  Because the more he had researched, the more he wanted to try something new.  But he wasn’t sure how he would react--he was definitely interested in this idea, but he was also nervous about what could happen.  And that was even before he considered how Felicity would take his request.  

But she was here, her hands still touching him with so much affection and tenderness.  Her smile had reappeared, a soft curve of her lips that made him feel warm and safe.  And her eyes were so open and full of concern . . . if felt like there was no reason to wait any longer.  

So Oliver took a deep breath and told her.  “I want you to tie me up.”

End, Chapter 8


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly grateful to fanmommer, closer2fine and callistawolf, who serve as my first readers on this fic. Calli, in particular, was invaluable in making this chapter much stronger, so it would really pack a punch. 
> 
> Remember, there will be a delay in this fic--the next chapter probably won’t be up before Wednesday. If you need to get caught up, it’s probably easiest at AO3. Hope you have a great weekend!

Felicity’s mouth dropped open, her eyes going impossibly wide--so wide that her glasses actually slipped down her nose.  “What?!?”

“I want you to tie me up,” Oliver repeated, hoping he sounded calm.  “I know it might seem like I’ve come really far, but this week--I think I need to know what it’s like to be really out of control.  To be totally at the mercy of something I can’t control.”

“Wait, okay, back up,” Felicity said, wiggling off his lap and onto the sofa.  “You have so few problems going into a submissive state--you don’t have to do this, Oliver.”

He frowned.  “I know that, Felicity.”

With one pink-tipped finger, Felicity pushed her glasses up.  “You’re not doing this to . . .”

When she didn’t finish her thought, Oliver lifted his eyebrows.  “To . . .?” he prompted her.

She looked at him for a long moment, gnawing on her lower lip.  “To prove something to me.”

“Do I have something to prove?” Oliver asked, still frowning.  “Felicity, I spent this week realizing that I still have some work to do.  With Helena, with my mother, with the press--those situations are outside of my control and it drives me crazy.  I need--I think--”

Cutting himself off, feeling frustrated at not being able to explain himself, he ran his hands through his hair and then clasped them over the back of his neck.  Felicity stayed quiet, still nibbling on her lower lip.

“It’s easy to be submissive when it’s about giving someone what they want and it’s something I’m willing to give,” Oliver said, glancing at her and trying not to get distracted by the memory of her ordering him to eat her out.  “But it’s a lot harder when I have to submit when I don’t want to.”

“You’re right,” Felicity said softly, her hand rubbing up and down his arm.  “This is what you think you need to work on?”  

Was he getting through to her?  Did she think he was making sense?  Oliver thought so.  And that gave him the courage to keep going.

“You know that line about how you can’t control anyone else--you can only control your reaction to them?” Oliver asked, dropping his hands from the back of his neck.  When Felicity nodded, he went on.  “I want to control how I react.  Because before, I would stress out and brood and worry until I got a panic attack.”

Her gentle fingers trailed up to his shoulder, then over his neck and into his hair.  “You’ve really thought this over and done your research.”

There was so much pride and respect and admiration in her voice, Oliver nearly ducked his head and purred like a house cat.  What was it about her that made even his smallest accomplishments seem noteworthy--and his milestones feel like feats of the gods?

Oliver didn’t know, but he loved it.

Instead of purring, he allowed himself to lean into her hand, savoring her touch.  “So, do I make sense?” he asked her, looking at her from under his brows.  

Felicity gave a small nod.  “Yeah.  It makes sense, Oliver.”  She took a deep breath.  “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asked, sitting up straighter.  

For some reason, that made her laugh quietly.  She brushed a soft kiss over his lips and got up.  “Okay, I’ll tie you up.  Give me a few minutes to change and get everything ready.  Have you eaten tonight?”

The last thing he had wanted to do earlier was eat, with how his stomach had been tangled up in knots.  So he shook his head.  

That caused a frown to appear on her face.  “Okay, go into the kitchen and eat something.  Mostly carbs and some protein--I think I have some bread and cheese in the fridge.  If not, pick up the phone and call room service, but nothing too heavy.  And water, Oliver.  No booze.”

“Wow,” he said, blinking at her.  He hadn’t thought there would need to be so much preparation.  He thought it was just ‘here, I’ve got some rope and now I’m going to tie you to the bed’.  

“Bondage can be a lot of fun if you take the proper precautions,” Felicity said.  Then she gave him a lopsided wink.  “And you’re going to need your strength tonight, Oliver.  So, food and water first.”

“Oh,” he said through a mouthful of gravel, feeling his jeans tighten.

She giggled and kissed him again.  “I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”

And with a flip of her skirt, Felicity headed into the bedroom.  Leaving Oliver alone, breathing deeply as he tried to stay calm.  

Because . . . holy shit fuck, Felicity was going to tie him up.

Before he met Felicity, he had never thought that something like bondage would be of interest to him.  Sex alone had always been enough for him.  It wasn’t that he was unwilling to try new things in bed, to let his desires take him and his partner wherever it led.  Certainly back in his playboy days, he had women willing to do anything he suggested--public sex, threesomes, anal.  But somewhere along the way, it got boring.  Cliched.  He wanted more, something that felt meaningful.  So eventually, he had started dating Helena, hoping that would give him what he wanted.  What he needed.

It hadn’t.  But Felicity had.  And now she was gathering what she needed to take him to a place he had never been before.  It was a little bit nerve-wracking--but also a little bit exciting.  

But if he didn’t follow her instructions, this probably wouldn’t happen.  So Oliver pushed himself up from the sofa, adjusted his jeans, and stepped into the small kitchen.  Opening the half-size refrigerator, he saw several bottles of water and juice next to a carton of milk.  There was a hunk of Brie in a drawer, and a package of large green grapes on the bottom shelf.  

Gathering up the food, Oliver began putting together his meal, his stomach occasionally swooping whenever he thought about what the rest of the night would hold.  To keep his mind off that, he focused on warming the Brie in the small microwave, then spreading it over a few slices of crusty bread from the loaf sitting on the counter, before putting only the nicest-looking grapes on his plate.  

It was soothing, in a way.  Growing up, he had never even had to prepare a snack for himself.  Raisa didn’t like anyone ‘messing about’ in her kitchen, so he’d learned to content himself with chips or something like that when he was hungry late at night.  It wasn’t until he went to his first college that he’d even had to make himself a sandwich.  And now, it was just easier to let the cook make him something.  

But he liked taking care of himself like this.  It felt like a way to practice letting go of his control.  Because who the hell knew if whatever he made would taste edible, let alone good?  

With a small smile, Oliver carried a bottle of water and his plate of food over to the couch.  Taking a seat, he bit into the cheese-covered bread and chewed slowly, feeling his smile grow when he realized it was pretty good.  Yes, it was just smoothing some cheese over bread, but . . . well, it made him feel good.

He ate in silence and then rinsed off his plate and left it in the sink.  Now, with nothing to do but finish his water--which he did in a few moments--Oliver felt his nerves returning.  

Pacing was starting to sound like a good-yet-bad idea, bound to lead to a panic attack, when he heard a throat being cleared behind him.  Turning around, he saw Felicity, wearing what looked like the same black leather corset from his first session with him.  It was comforting to see something familiar at this moment, so he couldn’t help smiling at her.  Especially when he noticed her glasses were gone and her lips were a glossy shade of pink.

And then he noticed the thin red ribbon she held in her hands.  His forehead wrinkled as he wondered what the purpose of it was, and then his mouth went dry as Felicity lifted the ribbon and ran it across the tops of her breasts.  She did it a few times, her eyes meeting his, and then she loosely tied the ribbon around her throat.  

She looked at him silently for a moment.  “Tonight, you will call me Miss.  If you forget, I will remind you.  Do you understand?”  Her voice had gone down a few registers, into that smoky tone she sometimes used with him--the tone that made his whole body stand at attention.  

Dumbly, he nodded slowly, not looking away from her.  

“Say you understand.”  There was a new firmness in her voice--a demand that he do as she told him.  

“I--I understand,” he said.  When Felicity raised an eyebrow at him, he frowned, and then said, “I understand, Miss?”

“Good,” she nodded, lifting her chin.  She held her hand out to his.  “Come with me.”

As he reached his hand out to hers, he saw his fingers trembling just a little.  Felicity didn’t say anything, but instead of just taking his hand, she laced her fingers through his.  Then she turned and drew him after her as she walked to the bedroom.  

Nothing had even happened yet and he already felt like he was on the verge of losing control.  Because . . . this was happening.  She was already acting more like a dominatrix, ordering him around and muting her normal gentleness.  And once they were in the bedroom, Felicity was going to tie him up and make him see what being a submissive was really like.  And he knew she would make it good, and part of him was excited about the chance to let go and have Felicity be in charge, but . . . what if it didn’t work?  What if he didn’t get what he needed out of this?

_Then we’ll try something else._

The words might be in his head, but he almost thought Felicity might have spoke them out loud.  Because he could hear her saying them, could hear the warmth and caring and dedication.  And that made him believe it was true.  If bondage didn’t work, if it wasn’t helpful, they could figure something out.  

Because he trusted Felicity.  And he felt like she trusted him, too.  

Once they were in the bedroom, Oliver noticed that Felicity had lit candles, something she didn’t normally do.  But this time, instead of spicy vanilla and cinnamon, the fragrance was softer.  Lavender, he thought.  He wasn’t sure.  He just knew that the scent was very relaxing.  

Felicity escorted him to one side of the bed--the side he normally chose--and positioned him so the backs of his knees were against the bed.  She looked up at him, her eyes appraising him.  “What’s the safe word?”  

“Orange, Miss,” he replied softly, his voice sounding slightly choked.  

“What is it?” she asked, still holding his hand.  

He cleared his throat and said it again, louder this time.  “Orange, Miss.”  

“Good,” she murmured, her free hand lightly stroking his abs.  “If you feel, at any moment, that you need to stop . . .”  

“I will,” he promised her, leaning closer to her.  “I’ll use the safe word, Miss.”  

Nodding and then brushing a soft kiss against his mouth, Felicity let her forehead rest against his as she gazed up at him.  “Do I have your consent to tie you up and keep you in a submissive state, Oliver?”

“You do,” he answered, running his thumb over her hand.  “I trust you, Felicity.”

Her eyelids fluttered and her breasts rose and fell over the top of her corset, like she had taken as deep of a breath as possible.  Her free hand went to the back of his head and she pulled him in for a deep, hungry kiss--one he eagerly returned, feeling his nerves abate for the moment as desire and excitement swept over him.  

Then she sank her teeth into his lower lip and pulled back.  “Miss.”  

“What?” he asked, feeling dazed.  

“Miss,” she corrected him, taking another step back from him and lifting her chin.  

“Oh.  Yes, Miss,” he said, swallowing.  It was . . . disconcerting.  Having Felicity order him around like this, using her power against him instead of coaxing him into doing what she wanted.  He supposed that meant she had never really dominated him?  

“All right,” she said, resting her hands on his hips.  “I’m going to take care of you.”  

Oliver gave her a small smile, feeling his heart pound in his chest.  

Slowly, Felicity’s fingers began running over his sides and chest and stomach.  She pushed at his henley, sliding it up his torso.  “Lift your arms,” she told him and Oliver immediately complied.  Due to the height difference between them, even with the high heels that Felicity almost always wore, Oliver knew to lower his arms so she could pull his shirt off.  

She gave him a quick, lopsided grin as she dropped his shirt on the floor.  “You think you’re so cute,” she said, her hands running slowly down his front.  

“No . . . I just wanted to--help, Miss,” he replied, his breath catching partway through his sentence.  Felicity’s hands were at his waistband, deliberately unbuttoning his jeans.  Her fingers gently massaged his lower stomach, right above the line of his boxer briefs, and Oliver took in a long, slow breath.  Hoping his cock wouldn’t betray him.  

“Mmmm,” Felicity murmured, lowering his zipper inch by inch.  She didn’t make any move to push his jeans off.  Instead, she kneeled at his feet and drew his boots off, one at a time.  Kneeling in front of him, she looked up at him, letting her eyes sweep over him.  Then she wrapped her fingers around the waistband of his jeans and pulled them, along with his boxers, down and off.  

He stepped out of his clothes, watching as his cock bobbed slightly, so clearly possessed of a mind of its own with how it seemed to reach for Felicity.  

Not that he could blame parts of his body for wanting Felicity.  

Moving slowly and sensuously, Felicity rose to her feet.  Her fingers touched his thigh, then his abs as she stood up, and he wasn’t sure if she touched him in order to steady herself or because she wanted to touch him.  

“You ate like I told you to?  Drank some water?”  

His cock jumped at how her voice purred her questions.  He nodded, licking his lips.  “Bread with some Brie and grapes, Miss.”  

“Perfect,” she replied, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.  “Lay down on the bed, Oliver.  On your stomach, right in the center.”  

On his stomach?  Oliver wasn’t sure what she had planned--because wouldn’t that make certain elements of tonight more difficult?--but then, tonight wasn’t about his plans.  

Without a word and with only the barest of hesitation, he turned and crawled onto the bed, then flinched when Felicity’s hand, lightly but with a slight sting, slapped him on the ass.  

Looking at her over his shoulder, he half-frowned, half-glared.  “What was that for?”  She had never done anything like that before, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.  Although his cock had a very different opinion from the way it had jerked at the contact.  

Then he winced as she slapped him again, harder this time.  It stung, making him bite his lip where Felicity had nipped him earlier, and the pain from his lip and from his ass made him swallow.  And made his cock jump again.

“That was for thinking, and for not calling me Miss,” she told him, her hand now resting against the spot she had slapped.  “It was to remind you that tonight is not about thinking.”  

Felicity was right.  He had told her he wanted to learn how to control his reactions instead of falling into the same patterns of brooding and spiraling.  Tonight was about trying something new.  She had told him what the rules were, and he hadn’t followed them.    

He slowly nodded.  “Yes, Miss.”

Felicity smiled and bent down.  She removed her hand and pressed her lips lightly against his ass before straightening up.  

“On your stomach,” she reminded him and Oliver quickly complied, only taking the time to rest his groin carefully against the covers as he lay flat.  

There was nothing more than a few quiet rustlings for a moment.  He kept his eyes open, gazing straight ahead of him at the wrought-iron and dark wood of the bed’s headboard.  And then the bed dipped by his hip and a familiar weight landed on top of him.  

“Okay?” she asked, her hands running over the muscles of his back and shoulders.  

“Yes, Miss,” he replied, craning his upper body enough to look back at her out of the corner of his eye.  

She kept running her hands over him, then said softly, “Lay back down.  Stretch your arms over your head.  Palms against the duvet.”  

As soon as he did what she said, Oliver felt Felicity slide one hand up his arm, her hand resting on top of his as she draped herself over him.  Her breasts pressed into his back as her lips brushed against his shoulder, then the back of his neck.  “Your body is so beautiful, Oliver.  I never get tired of looking at you.” 

A shiver of pleasure went through him as Felicity pressed a few open-mouthed kisses over his back.  Then she shifted, moving up even more, and using her free hand to bring something in front of him.  

It was a length of rope.  A pristine white, it was loosely looped and looked so innocuous.  Like something you could buy in a hardware store.

“This is the rope I’ll be using tonight,” she told him, her chin resting on top of his shoulder.  “Here, touch it.”  

Lifting one hand, he ran a finger over the rope.  It was much softer than he had expected: smoother, silkier.  “What is it made out from?  Miss?”  

“Silk,” she said, kissing his shoulder again.  Then she sat up and Oliver missed the warmth and weight of her breasts against his back, even as he felt her move to straddle his back just under his shoulders.  “Bring your hands together, Oliver, palm to palm.”  

This was it, he thought to himself.  Taking in a breath, he did as instructed and watched as she carefully looped the rope around his wrists.  The knots she made were the same ones he had used with his father when they went sailing--a reminder of his past that made a flicker of sadness rush through him.  

“Stay in the moment, Oliver,” Felicity whispered in his ear.  “Focus on what you feel, right now.  Feel the softness of the duvet, the weight of my body.  Smell the candles and the scent of your skin and mine.  Listen to my voice.”  

“Yes.  Yes, Miss,” he said, more than willing to do what she said.  Although it felt strange, to not call her Felicity.  He loved saying her name.  It rolled off his tongue and he couldn’t seem to feel anything but happy when he said his four favorite syllables.

She tested her knots, slipping two fingers under the rope in several places around his wrists.  “If you feel any tingling or numbness, I need to know,” she told him softly.  “I’ll keep checking, too.”  

“All right, Miss,” he said, swallowing as he felt his body began to grow even warmer.  Because now . . .

But instead of attaching his hands to the headboard, Felicity rose up and began smoothing her hands up and down his arms in long, unhurried strokes, leaving his bound hands above his head.  “I get so distracted by your arms,” she whispered softly.  “From the first moment I saw you, I just wanted to touch them.”  

Oliver rested one side of his face against the bed, slowly feeling himself give into the spell Felicity was casting over him.  This, right now?  It was making him realize just how special this woman was.  How amazing.  She offered comfort and never-ending kindness, blazing heat and boundless desire, bright smiles and dark eyes.  

Her lips dragged along his arm, pressing soft kisses over his biceps.  He watched her, feeling his eyes droop at just how sexy and beautiful she was, loving having her so close to him, until he noticed that--

“Your lipstick,” he said, his voice thick.  “It’s--it’s all over my arm.  Miss.”  

In a contrast to all of her smiles so far since they started this, this time Felicity didn’t hold back.  Her smile lit up her face.  “I promised you, our first time, that I’d wear something that would leave marks all over you.  Tonight seemed like a good time for it.”  

All he could do was stare at her as Felicity pressed one last kiss against the back of his hand before getting up and vanishing out of his sight.  He knew she was still in the room--he could hear her breathing and the whisper of her shoes against the carpet.  But more than that, it was like his body knew where she was.  That whatever connection existed between them was humming with power and energy, making him feel alive in a way he had never experienced before.  

Yet at the same time, he couldn’t see her.  Could barely hear her.  There was an itch on the back of his neck, something that made him want to stop this and find her.  Find her so he could hold her and never let her go.  

However, he stayed still, in the same position that Felicity had left him in.  Waiting.  Pressing his lips together, trying to keep breathing in and out at the same rate.  Trying not to rock his hips against the bedding and get some friction for his cock.  

The noises got slightly louder and out of the corner of his eye, he slowly saw Felicity approach him.  She had another length of rope, which she wrapped around the rope binding his wrists together.  He swallowed as she brushed against him while she tied the rope to the iron scrollwork.  When she gave the rope a little tug, a soft moan slipped out of his mouth.  

She looked at him and smiled.  “You’re doing so well, Oliver,” she said, running her hand through his hair.  “Remember, stay in the moment.  Don’t get ahead of where we are.”  

That didn’t make sense to him.  What did she mean?  He could feel his forehead wrinkling until Felicity stroked her fingers against his skin.  “Shhh,” she said, leaning in and kissing him lightly.  “Don’t think.”  

“Miss, you keep leaving me alone, what else am I supposed to do?” he uncharacteristically grumbled.  Felicity just laughed and returned to the bed, climbing on top of him.  

“You’re supposed to clear your mind,” she chided him gently.  Her hands began kneading his shoulders.  “But you are such a physical person, I suspected you’d need help to get to that place.  Where everything goes quiet in your head.”  

“Oh,” he said, already feeling better since she was touching him.  But he did try to do what she said--to clear his mind by focusing on the sensations.  And oh-so-slowly, it seemed to happen.  The longer she ran her hands over his back, the more he inhaled the scent of the candles and their bodies, the harder he listened for all the little sounds to which he normally paid no attention--Oliver felt himself getting closer to a state of peace that he had never experienced before.  A place where there was nothing to worry about, nothing that needed his time and attention.  Where he could just . . . be.  

His eyes had fallen shut and he felt his body sprawl even more into the duvet, like he was boneless.  He lost track of where Felicity was touching him or if she even was.  There was nothing else except being warm and loose like this.  It was so complete, he barely stirred when his ass was gently pinched.  

“Roll over, Oliver.”  

Before she had even finished saying his name, Oliver complied with Felicity’s order.  He weakly flopped over onto his back, using his legs mostly to help him do so, since his hands were bound.  The moment his cock no longer pressed against the duvet and the cool air hit it, his eyes opened and he gasped.  The feeling of being present--of existing only right here, right now--fled as the needs of his body hit him like a ton of bricks.  

Although another reason, a stronger, more important reason for his reaction, was because of Felicity.  Because he felt like he was seeing her for the first time and it was like his mind and his body and his heart all, in that moment, were in total agreement.  

She was everything.  

“Keep your eyes open, Oliver,” she told him, hefting more rope.  “Watch me.”  

Like he could do anything else.  He couldn’t look away as Felicity carefully spread his legs, tying each ankle to the sturdy-looking posters at the bottom corners of the bed.  His cock grew even harder and he wanted to pant, but Oliver did his best to keep his breathing steady.  To try and hold on to that place of blissful emptiness inside of himself.  

With soft caresses as she slipped her fingers under the ropes, and with another gentle pull on each rope, Felicity checked the bindings and then looked at him.  Her eyes swept down his body, starting at his face and lingering on his eyes, before moving lower at an even slower pace.

Oliver tried not to move.  He really, really did.  But when he felt her eyes move to his groin, he couldn’t help it.  His hips arched off the bed and he tugged on the ropes.  

“Bad boy,” Felicity teased, her eyes flicking to his before returning to eyeing his cock.  “But with good reason to be bad.”  

His jaw tightened, but then he made himself relax.  Being tense and anxious wasn’t what he was going for.  Looking up at the ceiling, Oliver took a few deep breaths, feeling his heartbeat begin to slow down.  When he looked down, he saw Felicity at the foot of the bed, running her hands up and down his legs and smiling at him.  

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her fingertips lightly stroking the inside of his thighs in a tickling caress.  

“G-good,” he said, his voice cracking ever-so-slightly.  “Good, Miss.”  

“I think you can feel better,” she said, kneeling on the floor.  Her hands kept stroking his legs, moving from ankle to knee.  But then she lowered her lips to kiss the inside of his leg, right on his ankle, and Oliver moaned.  Because God, he had no idea an ankle could be so sensitive.  

Her lips were warm against his skin.  There was a slight tackiness from her lipstick that faded the more she kissed him.  And she was kissing him a lot.  He tried to maintain his breathing, tried to stay calm, but with what Felicity was doing to him . . . it was hard.  

At the very thought of the word ‘hard’, his cock twitched and Oliver huffed out a breath.  Felicity glanced up at him, smiled, and then resumed her torturous trail of kisses.  Her hands kept moving, now occasionally dipping down to rub the back of his knee, then massaging one of his calves gently.  

When he had asked Felicity to tie him up, he thought he had been prepared.  He thought it would be dark and hard, the ropes tightly pinning him in place.  But instead . . . all he felt was light.  The soft flickering candle flames, the warmth and comfort surrounding him, and the brightness of Felicity.  

Felicity was so bright.  He just wanted to find a way to that sunshine.  Live there and never ever leave.  

Oliver felt himself begin to return to that special place.  Where everything was good and quiet and safe.  He stopped reacting to her touch and just accepted it, soaking it up like he was a sponge and she was a flood.  Because she just overflowed with all the good feelings and he wanted to take them all in.  

At some point, she stopped kissing him, instead brushing her nose against his skin.  He was dimly aware of her tongue licking around his knee cap, until he realized her hair was brushing against his cock.  And Oliver latched onto that feeling, the whisper-softness of each sunny strand grazing his hard, aching flesh.

When she pulled back, kneeling between his legs, a soft whimper escaped his lips and Felicity looked down at him and rubbed her hands against his hips.  “Okay, Oliver?”  

Nodding, he looked up at her, taking in how the candlelight made her skin glow like a pearl.  She was so beautiful, he felt a little breathless.  His hands lifted up, his arms moving to wrap around her, only for his motion to be stopped by the ropes tying him to the headboard.  

She shifted forward, her knees spread wide as she straddled his hips, and planted her hands on either side of his head.  He grimaced when his cock bumped against the leather of her corset and took a deep breath.  

“How do you feel, Oliver?”  Her voice was as smooth as honey and twice as warm.  

“Like I’m floating,” he replied softly.  

The smile that lit up Felicity’s face made his heart skip a beat.  Because it was just so happy.  Like she had never heard anything as good as that.  Like this was the best night of her life.  And Oliver just had to smile back at her.  Had to show her that her happiness was his.  

“You remember what I said about your arms?” she asked softly, lifting one of her hands to stroke his bicep.  

“Uh-huh,” he sighed softly, tilting his head back.  “Um, I mean, yes, Miss.”  

Letting out a soft laugh, Felicity slid her fingers from his bicep, across his shoulder, and stroked the side of his neck for a moment before she sat up a little.  “They’re nothing compared to this,” she said, moving her hands to run slowly over his chest and abs.  

He gazed up at her, watching as she looked at her hands moving over his torso.  There was something different about her face, he thought.  A softness, a calmness, that he had never seen before.  Like maybe she, too, was finding someplace inside herself that made her feel safe.  

And if he was the reason for that feeling . . . he had never felt more powerful.  

With a quiet sigh, Felicity stopped moving her hands, letting them rest on top of his pecs.  Her hands moved up and down in time with his breaths, and Oliver wondered if she could feel his heart beating underneath her fingertips.  If she could feel how strongly it beat.  

Slowly, Felicity lifted her hands and moved them behind her, her eyes locked on his as she undid the corset.  He barely noticed when the leather loosened and slipped down, revealing her creamy breasts, the pink of her nipples a perfect match for her nail polish.  

His aching, straining cock trembled as he took her in.  Felicity kept straddling him, gazing at him with her arms at her sides.  He didn’t know what was going on, but it didn’t matter.  All that mattered was looking into Felicity’s eyes, being connected to her like this.  Feeling like he could see the whole universe inside her.

When she climbed off him and stepped out of his eyesight, Oliver felt a flutter of panic.  But he easily brushed it aside, his mind reacting to his lack of control and accepting it.  Actually enjoying not being in charge, not having to make a decision.  All he could do was wait and see what happened.  

A pair of blunt medical scissors and a wrapped condom appeared in his line of sight as Felicity set them on the bed beside his head.  Then, gloriously naked, she walked to the end of the bed and stood before him.  Even in this submissive, passive state, Oliver’s mouth fell open slightly and he strained at the ropes when Felicity took a tube of lipstick and smoothed that same bright pink over her lips.  She smiled at him and then blew him a kiss as she tossed the tube to the side of the room.  

“Felicity,” he breathed out.  Unable to say anything else but her name.  

“Oliver,” she answered, her voice a whisper as she crawled onto the bed and then up his body.  When her face hovered over his, she smiled at him.  “You are at my mercy.”  

He nodded, hoping the movement would bring him in contact with her, but she was still too far away.  Always just out of reach--no, not always.  He knew he had touched her soul at times when they were together.  He  _knew_  it.  

Her eyes never looked away from his as she leaned in and kissed him softly.  Oliver kept his eyes open, seeing how her eyes fluttered shut after a moment.  They kissed slowly, with no other contact beyond their lips, and he felt that floating feeling drift over him thanks to the magic she wielded.    

How else to explain how her body moved?  How she broke the kiss and reached for the condom, her fingers tearing open the packet and rolling the condom over him?  How else, then, could she move like some kind of magician, so effortlessly climbing on top of him and sinking down on him so smoothly?  

In unison, they both let out soft noises of contentment and completion.  That was how he felt: complete.  As Felicity moved, so tenderly and sensually, Oliver gazed up at her, feeling how her body wrapped around his cock, making him feel so much.  This wasn’t sex.  This was so much more.  

“Ohhh . . . Oliver,” she moaned, her head falling back.  One of her hands rested against his abs as she moved up and down on him.  She took her time, drawing him all the way inside her and then lifting up, up, up until only the tip of his shaft was inside her.  

The slow, deliberate movements made him clench his hands into fists and tug at the ropes, but then he breathed out and relaxed his grip.  Not fighting being tied up, not chasing his climax.  Just letting it happen.    

“Yes . . . good . . .” Felicity panted, her fingers caressing his stomach.  “Like that, Oliver . . . you’re so amazing . . .”  

“Felicity,” he groaned.  Loving the sound of her voice, all low and breathy as she rode him.  “Yes . . .”  

Oliver knew he wasn’t going to last long.  Already he could feel his balls drawing up, could feel the pressure in his spine.  And Felicity was going so slowly--even as she swiveled her hips in a way that practically made him go cross-eyed--he didn’t know if he could wait until she came if she kept up this slow pace.  

“Felicity--oh, fuck,” he muttered.  “Go--go faster, or else this is gonna be over quick . . .”

She shook her head, her hair swishing around her shoulders.  “All--all for you tonight,” she stuttered, her eyes bright.  “I’m taking care of you--remember?”

Something about her words, so selfless and giving, coming after everything else she had already done for him tonight, made Oliver shudder.  Made him feel like he was falling apart, and he just hoped Felicity could put him back together in the aftermath.

Both her hands went to his abs, stroking slowly, and then she leaned forward, draping herself over him as she propped herself up on her forearms.  The shift in angle made him groan and Felicity gave him a wide, mischievous smile.  “Wanna make you come so hard, Oliver--bliss you out ‘cause you’re so gorgeous like that . . .”  

And then she began clenching around his cock, her muscles releasing and contracting around him in a way he had never felt before, and Oliver groaned loudly.  “Oh, fuck, Felicity!”  

“C’mon, Oliver,” she urged him, gripping him even tighter.  “C’mon . . .”  

At this point, he gave up on maintaining any kind of calm.  He yanked on the bindings, arched up against her in an attempt to drive himself deep, then leaned up and pressed his lips against hers, clumsily nipping at her lower lip.  

She moaned and began rocking as she kept squeezing him, and he had to tear his mouth away to breathe and gasp, “Oh, yes--that’s it--Felicity--Felicity, I--”

_love you_.

With a gasp, he came, his body jerking against her, staring up at her with wide eyes.  Not from the strength of his climax, but from the epiphany he just had.  And for the first time, he tried to fight the waves of relaxation that Felicity could wring from his body, tried not to slip into unconsciousness.  

Because how could he pass out when he might love Felicity?

XXX

When he woke up, Oliver’s eyes snapped open and he looked around quickly.  His arms and legs weren’t bound anymore; he guessed Felicity had used the medical scissors to release him after he had passed out.  

Felicity was stretched out beside him, her back to him and hugging a pillow.  The candles were mostly extinguished, yet he had no sense of what time it was thanks to the heavy curtains drawn over the window.  

Slipping out of bed, Oliver walked to the small chair where his clothes were, reaching into the pocket of his jeans to pull out his phone.  According to the display, it was nearly midnight; he must have slept for a few hours after his climax.  

After both climaxes.  

Oliver looked over at Felicity, taking in the line of her back, before he swallowed and pulled on his clothes.  Normally, he would feel pleasantly sleepy, a kind of contented lassitude he only felt after sex with Felicity.  But tonight . . . tonight, he didn’t feel it.  He couldn’t.  Not with how he was trying not to lose his grip on his sanity and his control.

Because loving Felicity . . . that changed everything.  If it really was love, that is.  Oliver knew he had never been in love before.  He had no idea if what he was feeling for Felicity was love.  But it was something different from every other relationship he had.  Something important.  And that meant he couldn’t fuck this up.  Not after what had happened last week--they had barely gotten past the whole messy situation.  And here he was, thinking he was in love with Felicity?

It was like he was playing with fire.  And right now, he wasn’t willing to get anywhere near the flames.  

So even though he longed to take his clothes back off, get back into bed, and press against Felicity’s body, to make her come multiple times and worship her for how she made him feel . . . he didn’t.  Instead, he slowly walked out of her bedroom, as quietly as he could, and slipped out of her suite.  

Right now, he needed to be alone.  Far away from Felicity and all these thoughts and emotions swirling in his head and his heart.  Before he said or did something that would be impossible to come back from.  He could explain being jealous and acting like a dick, and then ask Felicity to forgive him.

He didn’t think he could explain to anyone, much less Felicity, how he had fallen in love with an unattainable woman.  And even though he wasn’t sure about what he felt, what he was feeling was so strong, so special and so good, he didn’t want to stop feeling like this.  And falling for Felicity was something Oliver didn’t want to be forgiven for.

End, Chapter 9


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter serves as a bridge to the rest of the story. Hopefully, you’ll like the direction I’m taking the fic in! Thanks to my cheerleaders: fanmommer, closer2fine and callistawolf.

Oliver Queen was well-acquainted with bad decisions.  Stupid, dumb, bone-headed decisions.  Whether it was peeing on a cop car, flirting with his girlfriend’s sister, or losing the family yacht in an illegal poker game, his younger self had cornered the market on making the worst possible choice in any situation.  

At least, that was the case until now, with falling in love with Felicity.  

If that was even what was happening.  

Breathing in and out slowly in time with his movements, Oliver bent his knees and squatted, balancing the barbell across his shoulders.  With the amount of weight he was lifting, he needed to stay focused.  To keep his mind on what he was doing.  Yet it didn’t seem to matter what he was doing.  Ever since Wednesday, three days ago, his thoughts were full of Felicity with only momentary respite.  

Because he didn’t know what he felt for this woman, except that the feelings were so strong and powerful and overwhelming, it was like he had no choice but to draw back from her.  To keep all of this to himself, to hold his emotions locked up inside himself, while he tried to make sense of it.  

Once he figured things out, once he understood what he was feeling, maybe then he would be ready to actually do something.  Whether it was staying away from Felicity or throwing himself at her feet--he didn’t know which choice was right, which choice he wanted.  But he wasn’t ready to make a choice.

And in the meanwhile, he tried to act as if everything was the same.  Went about his routine: meals with his family, a full schedule of meetings and work at Queen Consolidated, and his usual morning workouts. 

Today, this Saturday morning, he had spent twenty minutes on the treadmill before beginning leg day.  It was his least favorite body part to work, but he doggedly went about the exercises his trainer had set him.  Feeling his muscles pushed to near the breaking point, feeling the sweat pour down his face and back, feeling a few moments of peace when his body trembled so much that his mind went quiet.  

Only for a moment, though.  And then his confusion and desire and anger and caring would rush into him again and he would feel just as lost as before.  

He lowered the barbell to the floor and straightened up, his body equal parts contraction and relaxation, and made sure not to meet his own eyes in the mirror.  Not right now.  

Picking up his water bottle, Oliver took a few deep swallows, quenching his thirst, and then picked up the barbell again.  This time, while keeping his legs straight, he lifted the bar to his waist and lowered it, up and down and up and down.  Getting lost in the movement, and then--he had a flash of memory, of Felicity bending over in front of him, one of her silky robes stretched across her magnificent ass, and Oliver lost his grip.

The barbell clattered to the floor loudly.  Oliver cursed just as loudly, moving back in order to save his feet and his legs.  He rested his hands on his hips, breathing heavily.  A guy lifting next to him glanced over and said, “You okay, dude?”

Nodding, Oliver grabbed his bottle and took another drink.  Giving himself a moment to handle his embarrassment.  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he told the other man, before he began pulling the plates off the barbell.  He had done enough for today--especially since it was only eight-thirty in the morning and he already looked, and felt, like a fool.  

With a grimace, he headed into the locker room to shower.  He had hoped to do a longer workout, looking for the clarity he sometimes found when he pushed his body to the limit.  But that hadn’t happened, and now he would have to find something else.  Some other way to deal.  

Maybe he could see if Thea was free.  Finally find out how her new car was working for her.  Or see if Tommy was awake enough for breakfast.  Hell, maybe he could take a break from thinking about Felicity to consider if and how he should talk to his mother about her lack of concern.  

Running a hand over his hair, Oliver dropped his head under the spray of water and let it pound over him.  Talking to his mother right now would be a bad idea.  Of course, not as bad as falling for Felicity--nothing eclipsed that in his extensive gallery of bad decisions--but confronting Moira Queen right now definitely didn’t seem like a good choice for how to spend his Saturday.  

God, he didn’t know what to do.  He just felt so shaken.  Not sure about anything.  In the moment, when his limbs were bound and Felicity was taking him so deeply inside her body, everything had seemed perfectly clear.  He loved Felicity: that was what this combination of feelings meant.  He cared about her, he desired her, he respected her, he admired her.  He wanted to be with her every day, he wanted to listen as she explained her past, he wanted to be the person she could rely on.  

He wanted to be her everything.  

Pulling his head out from under the water, Oliver grabbed one of the bottles and poured some shampoo in his hand.  He rubbed it over his head, only to frown when he realized it was body wash, not shampoo.  Groaning, he rinsed his hair and tried again, this time making sure he got shampoo.

The thought that he could be in love with Felicity--it knocked him off balance and onto his ass.  Because it was just so . . . much.  So scary, so different, so life-changing.  Falling in love with any woman wasn’t something he had anticipated.  Certainly he had wanted that.  But after what happened with Laurel, after what he had put his parents through, he thought it was better to just focus on the business, attempt to be there for his family, and put love and relationships on the back burner.  He had let his mother set him up on dates, had started dating Helena when he was vaguely aware of wanting more, but he hadn’t really pursued love.  

And then he met Felicity and everything had changed, without him even realizing it.   

Turning off the water, Oliver grabbed his towel and rubbed the water from his body, turning over all these thoughts.  He had spent three days dancing around all the questions he had, shying away from it.  But at this moment, he felt ready to at least confront the question of what, exactly, did he feel for Felicity.

Ready to ask himself if he was really in love with her.  

Now that he had some kind of direction, Oliver found the thought of the day ahead of him less daunting.  Dressing quickly, he walked out of the gym, carrying his duffel bag and throwing it into the trunk of his Porsche.  It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision this morning, driving himself and in the small sports car rather than taking the Bentley or using one of the Queen family drivers.  Now he was grateful: he wanted to be alone.  

Gunning the engine, Oliver pulled out his parking spot and headed to the café down the street that he normally visited after his weekend gym session.  With a cup of coffee and an egg white scramble, he settled in at a table in the back, right by a window.  

With protein and caffeine moving through his body, he felt his mind beginning to focus.  Fixing on the question he wanted to answer.  

Did he love Felicity?

Oliver knew that there was a connection between them.  Something that had existed from the moment he had talked to her on the phone.  Meeting her confirmed it wasn’t his imagination, and the more time they spent together, the deeper the connection became.  It had barely been two months, but he couldn’t imagine his life without her being a part of it.  

Whatever it was that drew them together, it had sparked so many emotions inside him.  Taken separately, it wasn’t surprising that he desired Felicity.  That he enjoyed talking to her.  That he felt good when she smiled at him.  That he wanted to learn more about her.  

It was when all those emotions, and more, were combined that it seemed more and more like yes, he did love Felicity.  But did he?  This was all new to him.  Strange and completely unknown.  

Pushing away his empty cup and plate, Oliver took a deep breath.  He could feel the flutterings of anxiety at the edges of his mind, and the last thing he wanted was to have a panic attack in public.  So instead, he closed his eyes and thought about Felicity.  About her smile, about her kindness, about her eyes, about her support.  He remembered all the moments they had shared together, when she had made him feel better and when she had revealed a little piece of herself.  She was smart and funny, beautiful and sexy.  The more he thought about her and the more he let those emotions in, the less anxious he felt.  

And the clearer everything became.  

Swallowing, he opened his eyes.  So it wasn’t just a sex thing.  One of those epiphanies that seemed so clear when you were inside a woman, only to discount all of it in the clear light of day.

He loved Felicity.  It was so obvious now.  No woman--no person--had made him feel like this.  And he wanted to keep feeling like this.  He wanted to spend more time with Felicity, without having to pay her for it.  He wanted to date her, to find out what they could have.  

They already had shared more intimacy than he had ever had with another woman.  More of a relationship than his previous girlfriends.  With Laurel, it had been constant fights and reconciliations.  With Helena, it had been passionless and aimless.  But with Felicity . . . they had already had a fight, one that they had managed to resolve without threats or shouting.  That had to bode well for them, right?

_If she cares about you at all_.  

His whole body froze at the thought.  Oliver felt his breath catch, the lack of air no match to the pain in his chest.  Because he had been so wrapped up in thinking about his own feelings, worrying about how he felt, he had overlooked the much bigger problem.

Felicity was a professional.  She knew how to draw the lines.  Not like him.  She knew how dangerous it would be to fall for a client.  How many times had she told him that she was really good at what she did?  That had to include keeping her client at a distance while making him think she hadn’t.  

What if it was all in his head?  What if it was just wishful thinking, believing that Felicity might actually feel something for him?  Something real?

Just because they had a connection didn’t mean that it had to be a romantic one.  She might only see him as someone she was friendly with.  Hell, she wasn’t that different from a therapist--and the last thing a therapist should do was fall for a patient, right?  That seemed like a bad idea.  

Running a hand through his hair, Oliver tried not to give in to the despair.  Because Felicity wasn’t really a therapist: she had explicitly put herself in a different category when they had started seeing each other.  It wasn’t quite the same, so maybe she wouldn’t feel it was ethically wrong to begin a relationship with a client.  

But that still didn’t change the basic issue: he had no idea if Felicity actually cared about him in that way.  He thought she might--or maybe at least she had feelings for him that she hadn’t examined.  Just like it had been for him, he acknowledged.  Because he couldn’t deny that this past Wednesday was the first time he had felt like this around Felicity--the first time he had felt what he knew to be love.  No, there had been moments since nearly the beginning.  

So maybe Felicity just hadn’t thought about her feelings.  Didn’t realize how he was taking her words and her actions.  Did that mean he should tell her?  Should he confess how he felt?  Show up at her door with flowers and try to sweep her off her feet?  Offer to pay for all her expenses, get her to give up her lifestyle?  

No.  No, that sounded like a bad idea.  Felicity was too independent, too strong-willed, to accept that kind of help from him--or from any client, he suspected.  And if he had felt bad about being her sole client before he became aware of his feelings for her . . . well, now it would feel even more wrong.  

There had to be something he could do.  Because he didn’t think he could see Felicity without knowing what he was going to do.  He had already been contemplating cancelling tomorrow night’s appointment, and now he felt like he had to.  Because it was only thirty-six hours away, and that wasn’t enough time to figure out how to tell Felicity how he felt.  The very revelation about his feelings had sent him reeling for days--it would probably take just as much time to determine what he was going to do next.  

Which meant he had to at least contact Felicity, so she knew she was free tomorrow night.  Especially since he had left Felicity without a word on Wednesday.

Which . . . probably upset her.  

Oliver winced and pulled out his phone.  In the old days, he apologized with diamond stud earrings and huge vases filled with roses.  But that was Ollie Queen, so instead, he called his family’s florist and put in a request for something different.

“Something unique,” he told the clerk.  “And colorful.  Can you create something and I’ll come by to approve it in a few hours?”  

“Of course, Mr. Queen.  I’m sure Miss Nakamura will be able to arrange something to your liking,” the clerk said, referencing the head floral designer.  “We’ll see you around two o’clock?”  

“That’s fine, thank you,” he said before hanging up the phone.  Visiting the flower shop in person wouldn’t just let him make sure the flowers suited Felicity; it would allow him to maintain an extra layer of privacy.  He wasn’t about to tell some random store clerk what message he wanted on the card included with the flowers.  

Especially since he wasn’t sure what he was going to say.

XXX

Putting on his best society smile and bracing for the flashbulbs, Oliver stepped out of the limousine and onto the red carpet.  Tonight was the gala benefit for the Starling City Women’s Association, one of his mother’s most favored causes.  Both his mother and Thea were attending, and since he wasn’t seeing Felicity this evening, he thought attending the gala would help keep his mind off her.  

He knew it was a futile hope, but at least it had allowed him to gracefully cancel on Felicity, as well as giving him some measure of cover for the flowers.  Letting them be about Wednesday night and about canceling tonight, and not because he wanted to give her flowers.  

It had taken him over a half hour in the florist shop to come up with what to put on the card.  Because he wanted to apologize for leaving her without a word, without making it appear that it had anything to do with his feelings.  Yet in the same breath, something about lying to Felicity felt wrong.  Made him feel like he was regressing to his old self, who was the last man he wanted to be with her.  

Finally, he had decided to stick to the basics.

_I’m sorry for leaving Wednesday. Please call me_.

The wait for Felicity to call him, after the flowers had been whisked away by the discreet courier service he had hired instead of the shop’s normal deliveryman, had felt like an eternity.  In truth, it had only been a few hours later, as he was getting ready for dinner, that Felicity’s contact info had appeared on the screen of his phone.

“The flowers are beautiful, Oliver, but you had nothing to apologize for,” she had said as soon as he had picked up.

“I wanted to,” Oliver had replied, holding the phone tightly.  “It’s not like me to get up and leave someone while they’re asleep.  But I didn’t realize I needed to get home so urgently, and I didn’t want to wake you.”  

“It’s okay,” Felicity had said, but there was just something in her voice, something that seemed like sadness or discomfort, that had made him doubt her.  

His heart had practically leaped out of his chest at the thought that she had been sad to wake up and discover he was gone.  But he had known that feeling was sparked by some hopeless romantic side of his personality, one that he hadn’t even been aware of before Felicity.  So he had pumped the brakes and tried to act normal.

“Still, I’m sorry.  For Wednesday, and for needing to cancel tomorrow’s appointment.”  

This time, her voice had sounded concerned.  “Is something wrong, Oliver?”  

“No, no, nothing’s wrong, Felicity,” he had answered quickly.  “Just need to play the dutiful son with my mother.”  

“You still haven’t talked to her?  Oliver, I know it’s difficult, but you really need to prioritize that discussion,” Felicity had told him.  “The longer you put it off, the harder it’s going to be.  And for your own sake, you need to tell her how hurt you were by her words and her actions.”  

God, she was just so remarkable, Oliver had thought.  Because she had never hesitated to place his needs first, in all the time they had known each other.  And the more she had done for him, the more he had wanted to do for her.  

“I know,” he had said, feeling the desire to comfort her, and to do what she told him to do, growing ever-stronger.  Which had made him willing to confront his mother when he hadn’t been before.  “That’s part of what tomorrow night is about: showing her how much I’ve improved and how I wish I would have had her support.”  

“That’s not a bad idea,” Felicity had replied after a moment.  “All right.  I hope you have a good evening, Oliver, and I’ll see you on Wednesday?”

Had there been a hint of longing in her voice?  Perhaps, he had thought.  But he had made himself ignore it, as much as he could.  “Definitely,” he had promised.  “I’ll bring the sushi.”  

Her soft laugh had made the whole world seem a bit brighter.  “I can’t wait.  And not just for the sushi--”  Her voice had cut off suddenly, like she had put her hand over the receiver.  Then she had spoken quickly.  “See you on Wednesday, Oliver.  Bye.”  

And with that, she had hung up.  

Oliver had taken a deep breath when he had lowered his phone.  As he kept going over that phone call, between then and now, he couldn’t help wishing that he had someone he could talk to about Felicity.  Someone who had seen her with him, someone who could give him some insight into her.  Yet the only person he could think of that fit that description was John Diggle, and that wasn’t going to work.  Not only did the man work for Felicity, but how much had he really observed, since he supposedly didn’t watch the surveillance footage?  And there had only been the briefest of moments when all three of them had been in the same room together.  

No, if Oliver was going to figure out how Felicity felt for him, he would have to do it on his own.  And later--not when he was getting ready to face a gauntlet of reporters on his way into a charity event, while he was escorting his mother and sister.  

Turning back to the limo, he held his hand out to help his mother out of the car, and then Thea.  The flash bulbs went off faster once they were all out of the car, all three members of the Queen family together for a somewhat-rare public appearance.

“Moira!  Moira, who are you wearing?”

“Thea, where’s the boyfriend?”  

“Are you with the prettiest women in Starling tonight, Ollie?”

It was like a mix-and-match game: they were all asked who they were wearing, how Queen Consolidated was doing, whether they had significant others or where said love interests were.  Just looking at Thea, Oliver could tell she was barely holding back her eye rolls, while Moira had pasted on a blank, pleasant expression and politely answered a few questions as they made their way down the red carpet.  

Not for the first time, he felt his skin crawl at the invasiveness.  In the old days, he soaked up the attention of the press.  He couldn’t even blame his exploits on not getting validation from his parents--he had plenty of time with his mother and father.  But Ollie Queen always had to be the center of everything, and he knew just how to make that happen.  

And then Laurel had happened, and the limelight stopped being something he sought.  He put up with the press when it was necessary, but he no longer wanted the bright lights and harsh glare.  

“Oliver--Oliver!  Any guilt over Helena’s spiral?”  

The words were like a bucket of acid thrown in his face.  He tensed and turned his head, searching for the reporter who had asked the question.  It was a small, thin little man, wearing a porkpie hat and holding his phone out.  The reporters on either side of him edged away, which wasn’t surprising.  Because Oliver knew he was glaring at the reporter, pinning him with an angry stare.  

“Well, Mr. Queen?” the reporter asked, holding his recorder further out.  “Any statement on your ex?”

“Yeah,” Oliver said, taking a step towards the reporter.  “You said Helena is in a spiral?”

“It’s all everyone is talking about,” the reporter replied, raising an eyebrow.  “The crying in public, getting drunk at your club . . .”

What the hell?  If Helena was getting drunk at Verdant, why hadn’t he heard anything about it?  If nothing else, Verdant’s manager knew what Helena looked like.  And after working for him and Tommy for four years, Roy should know that Oliver would want to be informed if his ex was boozing it up in his club.  

As for crying in public . . . Oliver couldn’t help suspecting it was an act.  A way to gain sympathy, a ploy for attention.  He didn’t know--maybe he was wrong.  But it didn’t matter, because he and Helena were over.  

“Of course I’m concerned about Helena,” Oliver said, only partly meaning the words.  “But our break-up was private and I would hope the press would respect that, especially with Helena having a difficult time.”  

“You were the one doing the dumping--” the reporter began, but Oliver’s control had finally snapped.  He advanced on the reporter, only the temporary barriers keeping him from getting right up into the man’s face.

“My break-up with Helena Bertinelli was and should be private.  The reasons we parted were amicable ones, and I’m tired of every reporter in this city thinking that I haven’t changed, that I’m still the same asshole I used to be--”  

A hand on his arm pulled him back and halted his rant.  “Like everyone, we’re worried about Helena and we hope that her family gives her the same support that we give Oliver during hard times,” Moira said smoothly, her smile never wavering.  “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we don’t wish to be late for the benefit.”

As Moira ushered him the rest of the way along the carpet, Thea behind them, Oliver pressed his lips together.  ‘The same support we give Oliver during hard times’?  That was rich, considering how his mother had flat-out told him that she had noticed his suffering and refused to intervene.  

Once they were inside the hotel, Oliver tugged his arm free from Moira’s grasp.  “Excuse me,” he said, stalking away from his mother and ignoring both her and Thea’s protests.  Instead, he walked straight to the bar and ordered a Scotch.  And while he waited, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to Tommy.

_We need to talk.  Tonight_.

His Scotch was half-drunk by the time Tommy replied.

_Okay . . . Verdant?_

_Okay.  Be there by 10_ , Oliver texted back before sliding his phone back into his pocket and finishing off his Scotch.  He slapped his glass down on the bar, nodding to the bartender for another.

“You wanna ease up there, Ollie?”

Thea sounded like she was worried but was trying not to show it.  That made him pause in lifting his glass and turn to look at her.  “I’m fine, Speedy.”  

His sister snorted.  “Yeah, right.  I thought you were gonna apologize to Felicity.  Is she pissed off about Helena?  Is that why you went off on that shrimp out there?”  

Grimacing, Oliver let his head hang.  He shouldn’t have told Thea anything about Felicity.  Thea had always been persistent to the point of stubbornness.  Now she was bound to connect any negative displays from him to Felicity.  And while that was accurate, he needed Thea to not be like a dog with a bone about this.  

“No,” he said, glancing at Thea, before taking her by the elbow and leading her towards a quieter part of the room.  “Thea, up until a few months ago . . . did I seem like I was okay?”  

Her forehead wrinkled.  “Ollie?”  

“I wasn’t okay, Thea,” he said, his voice firm and serious.  Answering his own question.  “I was a mess.  And Mom knew.  She knew and she did nothing, Thea--she just left me alone.  So that whole ‘giving Oliver support’ line?  It’s bullshit.  Complete bullshit and I’m so sick of all of it--”  

“Oliver!” Thea interrupted, grabbing his biceps.  “I don’t understand everything that’s going on with you, but right now?  You’ve gotta calm down.  C’mon, let’s just--let’s just go.  We’ve walked the carpet, no one will care if we slip out now.”

Damn it.  He was making a scene, losing control, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.  As good as leaving sounded, he didn’t want to suck Thea further into his spiral.  So he made himself take a few breaths, seeing Thea watch him, that wrinkle of worry and concern still in the middle of her forehead.  When she shouldn’t be worrying about anything more than what dress to wear.  

“I . . . I’m okay, Speedy,” he said quietly.  

“Bullshit,” she retorted, glaring at him.  “I know you haven’t been okay, but you’ve been doing so much better lately.  And I don’t think this is just Mom, although--although that’s a really sucky thing she did.”  

Putting on his best attempt at a smile, Oliver leaned down and kissed the top of her head, getting a too-close taste of Thea’s hairspray for his troubles.  “Okay, so things aren’t great at the moment.  I’m gonna go see Tommy, though, as soon as I leave here.”  

“Go now,” Thea told him, stepping back from him and looking up at him.  “I’ll cover for you with Mom.  You need to get out of here.”  

“I’m not going to do anything stupid, Thea,” he started to protest, only to close his mouth at the look his baby sister shot him.  

“Good,” she said, looking around.  “There’s the back doors, over there.  Go slip out and send me a text when you meet up with Tommy.  Okay?  I’ll see you later.”  

Oliver was ready to protest, but Thea kept giving him that stern look, the one their mother had perfected and Thea was apparently scary good at, and really . . . he didn’t want to be here.  So with a small smile and a kiss to Thea’s cheek, he walked to the indicated back exit and went out through the kitchen, stepping out into an alley behind the venue.  

After taking a few lungfuls of fresh air, he looked around and headed towards Wilcox.  He could get a cab there to Verdant.  Where he had every intention of cutting into his and Tommy’s profits, by getting good and drunk.  

Right after he told Roy that Helena was permanently cut off.

XXX

For a brief moment, as he breezed into Verdant, Oliver missed the days when he felt like he belonged there.  When everything had been easy, when he thought a business that had a lost and found full of thongs was the best kind of business to run, when he didn’t have to worry about consequences and responsibilities so much.  

But that moment passed quickly and he remembered why he was done with this lifestyle.  Because it was empty, because it was boring, because it didn’t make him happy.  

That was why he snagged a bottle of vodka from behind the bar, filled a glass with some ice, and carried it up to the office.  The office where never much business happened, except for a lot of meetings.  One on one, sometimes two on one.  

Giving his head a small shake, Oliver slouched down in one of the leather chairs and poured himself a drink.  When he wanted to get drunk, he didn’t waste good Scotch; he went right for the vodka.  

It was early, barely eight-thirty.  It would be a while until Tommy would show up.  So he could get a good buzz on, enough to just let go.  

If Felicity knew what he was doing, how she take it?  His decision to fall into a bottle?  She would probably disapprove.  Tell him it was a negative method to deal with negative emotions.  But damn it, right now he didn’t care.  His mother had shown just how duplicitous and manipulative she could be, his ex-girlfriend was dragging his name through the mud, and the brief honeymoon of positive press and good news for Queen Consolidated had quickly faded in light of setbacks for a formerly-highly regarded product out of their Applied Sciences Division.

And that was even before he dealt with the little problem of being in love with his mistress/prostitute--a woman that couldn’t possibly love him back.  

Just thinking all that was enough for Oliver to drain his glass.  So he refilled it, and every time it got empty, he poured some more vodka into the square glass tumbler.  

By the time Tommy showed up, the bottle was nearly empty and Oliver was more drunk than he had been in a long, long time.

“You asshole, you started without me,” was his best friend’s greeting.  But when he saw the lack of vodka in the bottle, Tommy’s eyebrows went up and he took the bottle away.  “All right, how about we get some coffee in you?”

“No, Tommy,” he slurred, using one of his hands to prop his head up.

“Yes, Tommy,” his friend insisted.  “You wanted to talk, and I’m seeing that you need to talk, and to talk you need to be slightly less shit-faced.  I’ll be right back.”  

With a grumble, Oliver lowered his head to the desk and closed his eyes, catching a cat nap.  It sucked that Tommy was right, but he was.  So he slept a little, and drank the coffee that Tommy brought him, and nodded or shook his head in response to Tommy’s questions, in a complete and utter sulk.  

Just because he knew Tommy was right didn’t mean he had to like it, after all.

Gradually, he sobered up enough to be willing to talk--and to be able to do so.  And that was when Tommy really started the questioning.

“So what’s this about?  It’s not Helena, who I just found out has been running up a tab here.  One that she’s left unpaid for God knows how long.”  

He snorted.  “Nope.  Not Helena.  I’m sick of her acting like I broke her heart.”   

“Okay . . . “ Tommy said slowly, drawing out the word.  

Looking at his best friend, thinking about how this all got started, it was all Oliver could do to hold back a bark of bitter laughter.  Because . . . he never would have met Felicity without Tommy.

“It’s Felicity,” he said, meeting Tommy’s gaze.  Watching his eyes widen.  “I’m in love with her.  I fucking fell in love with her.”  

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Tommy said, putting aside his glass of Scotch and leaning forward.  “Hold on.  You _love_ Felicity?”

Shrugging one shoulder, Oliver grabbed his mug and drank some of the remaining lukewarm coffee.  “You’ve met her.  She’d be easy for any man to fall in love with.”  

“I kinda thought she was a bit of a cold fish,” Tommy said, frowning.

Without any conscious thought, Oliver’s hand flew out and grabbed Tommy’s shirt, pulling his face closer to his.  “What the fuck are you sayin’?”  

“She was all reserved and buttoned-up,” Tommy replied, not sounding at all fazed by Oliver’s anger.  “I mean, she was nice, and when I told her about you, she warmed up, but . . . yeah, I didn’t think you’d fall for her.  She’s not your type at all.”  

Tommy was his oldest friend.  He knew the kind of woman Oliver went for: tall, statuesque brunettes.  Other than Laurel, not a single woman he dated had much of a brain.  So the fact that he was saying he loved a tiny, curvy blonde with a brain that could think circles around everyone else . . . he got Tommy’s doubts.  They so perfectly mirrored his own, after all.  Because even putting aside what Felicity did, she was an amazing, talented, intelligent, beautiful woman.  And he was a still-recovering fuck-up.  

Letting go of Tommy’s shirt, Oliver leaned back in his chair, letting his head fall back against the soft leather.  “I’m such an idiot.  And an asshole.  I can’t believe I did this.”  

“Falling for a dominatrix?  Yeah, it’s pretty hard to top that in the Stupid Moron contest,” Tommy said, smoothing down his shirt before giving his head a shake.  “I’m sorry.  I’m just surprised.  Because ever since what happened, ever since Laurel--”

“I know,” Oliver interrupted, not wanting to talk about Laurel right now.  

The finality in his voice made Tommy press his lips together.  There was a silence for a few moments, only the clink of the ice in Tommy’s glass and the muted thump of the bass from the club disturbing the quiet.  Then, Tommy gently spoke.  “What do you love about Felicity?”

“You got all night?” Oliver asked, shrugging his shoulders.  Tommy gave him a look, and Oliver rubbed a hand over his face, ducking his head as he tried to put his feelings into words.

“I just . . . she’s beautiful.  And smart--she’s got a master’s degree, for God’s sake.  She’s full of kindness, actual real kindness.  She just--she really cares, you know?” Oliver explained, his jumbled thoughts starting to untangle the longer he talked.  “She lights up any room.  She’s funny, and quirky, and she . . .”  

He paused, looking down at his coffee mug.  “She makes me feel good.  And I’ve become a better man by knowing her.  By listening to her, by trusting her, by being with her.”  

Lifting his eyes to look at Tommy for the first time since he began, Oliver managed a lopsided, wry smile--one that didn’t counteract the sadness he heard in his voice when he spoke.  “And that’s only when I see her two nights a week.  If I got to see her everyday--if I got to be with her . . . I could be so happy.  But that doesn’t even matter as much as the idea that maybe, just maybe--I could make her happy, too.”

Tommy’s forehead wrinkled.  “You sound like you don’t think that’s possible.  Being with her.”    

“It probably isn’t,” Oliver said, swirling the dregs of his coffee around in the mug.  Feeling oh-so-tired.  “‘Cause of her job and ‘cause . . . I don’t even know if she really cares.  Y’know?  If this is real for her.”  

The silence this time was heavier.  Darker.  Oliver didn’t really understand why, it was just how it felt.  Like giving voice to his fears has made this discussion less of a confession and more of a eulogy.  For something that’s dead which was never supposed to be alive in the first place.  

Oliver rubbed his hands over his hair, feeling annoyed at how maudlin his thoughts were but not caring enough to do anything about them right now.  Until Tommy spoke.

“That benefit your mom hosted a few weeks ago.  Felicity was there.  You walked away from me, mid-sentence, to get closer to her.”  

His head jerked up as Oliver remembered that night.  When he had dragged Felicity away and kissed her and nearly fucked everything up.  Because he had been jealous and wanted Felicity only for himself.  Because he had wanted to take care of her, had wanted her to be his date and smile at him all night and work her magic on everyone in that room, make them fall under her spell like he already had.  

“What?” Oliver whispered.  

“I saw you two together,” Tommy said, his lips twisting.  “Felicity had her hair in a ponytail and was wearing glasses.  I didn’t realize it was her at first.  But you knew.  You knew from the moment you saw her.  It was . . . it was uncanny, Ollie.”  

Blinking, Oliver could only stare at his best friend as Tommy went on.  “And at first, I thought you were just hung up on her.  Or pissed off that she had shown up at the party.  Worlds colliding and all that.”  Tommy paused and took a long look at Oliver.  “But it was more than that.  You were already in deep.  And so was she.”  

“What?”  

Suddenly, Oliver was on his feet, leaning forward with one hand on the desk to brace himself.  Trying to get closer to Tommy, trying to figure out where he was going with this.

Tommy looked up at Oliver.  “I watched you two.  She hides it a hell of a lot better than you do, but Ollie . . . she definitely feels something.  Everything changed about her when she saw you.  And then she ran out of the room like her ass was on fire and you went after her.  And all I could think was that--”

He waited on tenterhooks for Tommy to go on.  When he didn’t, Oliver knew he had to press Tommy to finish what he started.  To tell him what he was going to say.  

“What, Tommy?”

Slowly, his best friend in the world lifted his eyes to Oliver’s.  “All I could think, when I saw how Felicity looked at you, was that this was trouble.  Because that woman feels something for you, Oliver, and that’s not good.”  

End, Chapter 10


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so excited to share this chapter with all of you. Partly because of what happens, but more because of all the amazing feedback I’ve received on Tumblr, Twitter and AO3. It’s so amazing how this story has been embraced and I am so appreciative of the love. Thank you!
> 
> A little shout-out to callistawolf and closer2fine in this chapter, for their continuing support, as well as fanmommer. Happy Friday, happy Arrow Trailer Day, and for my fellow Americans, happy Labor Day Weekend!

The thing about epiphanies was, they were pretty rare.  Uncommon.  Not something that happened often in life.  Most of the time, you had to make decisions based off some kind of method, not due to a sudden flash of insight.  Whether it was through careful thought and analysis or going with your gut, there was something that helped you make a choice.

Realizing he was in love with Felicity was an epiphany.  What he was going to do with that revelation--that was a decision Oliver had to make.  And that decision was one of the hardest he had ever faced.

When his father had laid down the law with him, Oliver hadn’t really taken a lot of time to think it over.  Which was pretty common with his decisions back then--he had just done whatever felt good, whatever was the easiest option.  He never stopped to consider the consequences, never worried about what might happen.  

Until Laurel.  Until that night, when he had gotten into his Maserati with her.

Oliver took a deep breath and looked out the windows of his office, taking in Starling City.  The sun was beginning to set and electric lights were beginning to be turned on, inside buildings and along the streets of the city.  This was his favorite time of day: the moment when the day ended and the night began.  A moment of transition.  

The accident had demonstrated the kind of responsibility he had as a man.  And when he had chosen to work for his family’s company--not that it felt like much of a choice--and his father had died, he became aware of the vast number of responsibilities he now carried.  And the consequences his choices had beyond life and death.  He had quickly learned to stop making rash decisions.  Not when the wrong choice meant stock prices dropped, people lost their jobs, and the press started calling for his head.  

So he had gotten wary of making uninformed choices.  Of deciding something without in-depth thought.  Yet right now, his hard-won practice of internal debate over major decisions was backfiring majorly.

Because tomorrow night, he would be seeing Felicity.  And his first meeting with her, their first night together after his epiphany, had been his deadline to decide.  To choose what he was going to do about his feelings for her.  

The more he lived with this revelation, the more he got used to being in love with Felicity, the more he accepted that his feelings weren’t going anywhere.  He loved her and he wanted to be with her.  And thanks to his drunken conversation with Tommy, he thought--he hoped--she might feel somewhat the same towards him.  

But how to address it?  How to convince her he was serious?  How to prove that he wanted something more with her?  

It was so frustrating.  Because Oliver could almost sense the solution, on the fringe of his thoughts.  Something he just couldn’t grasp, taunting him with its ephemeral perfection.  Something obvious and good, something with a chance of actually succeeding.  But what the fuck was it?  

He ran a hand over his face and stood up, moving closer to the windows.  He leaned one shoulder against the glass, his arms folded across his chest as he gazed out over the vista before him, lost in thought.

“Mr. Queen?”  

With a small sigh, he turned to look at his assistant.  “Yes, Calli?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but your mother is on line two?”  She gave him a small, sympathetic smile--one that he automatically returned, since Calli had a good understanding of his relationship with his mother, after spending three years as his assistant.  

“Thank you.  Go on home, I’m nearly done here for the night,” Oliver replied, heading back to his desk.  

Waiting until Calli had said good night and he had braced himself for whatever his mother had to say, Oliver picked up the phone.  “Hi, Mom.  Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Oh, not at all, Oliver.  I hope your day went well.”  

“So-so,” he answered, dropping down into his leather desk chair.  “But I doubt you called me at the office to ask how my day was.”  

There was a pause and a sense of hesitation that came through the phone.  Moira had probably not expected him to be so blunt, but ever since Sunday night, he had been having a difficult time not being curt with her.  Something about telling Thea what his mother had said--letting someone else in on that conversation--had made him unwilling to sugar-coat his feelings with Moira.

“I was hoping you might be willing to do a favor for me and for Kelly Lucas,” Moira said, her voice having dropped a degree or two in warmth.  

Kelly Lucas was one of his mother’s oldest friends--and a member of several charity boards.  This was probably about helping out with a cause, giving some organization the money needed to meet their fundraising goals.  Oliver felt his shoulders relax slightly.  “What is it?”

“One of the bachelors in this weekend’s auction has had to drop out suddenly, and since you and Helena have been broken up for a few weeks now--”

“No, Mom,” he interrupted, rubbing a hand over his eyes.  “You know how I feel about those meat markets.”  

Even in his younger days, Oliver had never liked the whole ‘buy a bachelor for charity’ schtick.  Back then, it was because he didn’t want to be purchased by some society dragon who would pinch his ass and make comments about how handsome he was and how perfect he would be for her granddaughter.  Now, he just didn’t like the idea of anyone, man or woman, being sold for an evening’s entertainment.  Why couldn’t people just write a check and that was the end of it?

“Oliver, you’re being completely unreasonable.  This is to support a very worthy cause: the Starling City Cancer Fund.  And maybe you’ll meet someone.  With how the press has been, being seen with someone new will help move them to the new story.”  Moira sounded like someone explaining something to a stupid person or a child and Oliver felt his temper flare.  

“I’m perfectly capable of finding my own dates, Mom.  In fact, there’s a woman I’m going to ask out soon.”  

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Oliver wanted to bang his head against his desk.  What the hell?  This was even worse than telling Thea the name of the woman he was interested in.  Because his mother would be ready to start planning a wedding as soon as he showed any real, legitimate interest in a woman.  

“Really, Oliver?” To say Moira sounded pleased was an understatement.  She sounded like she was already picking out which pieces of family jewelry she would give to his future wife.  

“I need to get going,” Oliver said.  “Please give my apologies to Kelly and tell her I’ll write a nice check.  I’ll see you at home later.”

Without really waiting for his mother to say anything more, Oliver hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes.  What was he thinking, blurting out that he was going to ask a woman out?  Because now his mother would be asking questions and wanting to know more about this mythical woman that he wanted . . . to . . . date.

Oliver opened his eyes and lifted his head, feeling that solution, the one that had been hovering out of his reach, suddenly to be nearly within his grasp.  Because . . . what if he asked Felicity out on a date?  What if that was how he declared his feelings for her?  

It was a risky approach.  Because if she turned him down, he wasn’t sure how he would regroup.  But deep down . . . he didn’t think she was going to turn him down.  He had a feeling that Felicity might be just as curious as he was, to explore what they had between them.  

After what Tommy had told him--his worries about the inherent perils in a relationship with Felicity--Oliver had felt depressed and lost.  But now . . . he had a flicker of hope.  He had an idea.  Something that could actually work.  

If he asked Felicity out, it would be a chance for them to start something on an equal footing.  They wouldn’t be dominatrix and client.  They would be Oliver and Felicity.  

The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it.  And with his mind made up, Oliver began to work out the logistics.  Started to make plans.  

And that little bubble of hope grew bigger and bigger.

XXX

As he walked down the familiar hall to Felicity’s suite, Oliver hefted the bag of sushi in his hand, then used his other hand to tug on his tie.  He might feel hopeful that his plan would work, yet there were definitely nerves fluttering in his stomach.  Feelings of anticipation and anxiety warred inside him, yet most of all, he was just excited to be seeing Felicity.  Excited to look at her with new eyes, in light of his revelation, and watch for signs that perhaps she felt the same as he did.  

She was very talented at hiding what she was feeling.  Even though she had a history of babbling, it was rare for Felicity to slip and say more than she meant.  And what she did let slip was so innocuous, so random, he was still lost at what picture the puzzle of Felicity presented.  So he would have to observe her carefully and watch for any hint of her emotions.  But since it was not exactly a hardship to look at Felicity, Oliver thought it would work out.  It had to; this was a delicate operation and he didn’t want to fuck it up.

Still, he was mostly excited.  Excited and happy to be seeing Felicity.  So he didn’t hesitate when he reached her door:  he brought his hand up and knocked against the solid wood surface of the door.  

It seemed that the sound of the final knock had barely faded when the door was opening, and Oliver felt himself smile widely when he saw Felicity.  Felt his heart beat harder, felt his hands itch to touch her.  

God, he really loved her.  

Her smile was equally bright, just like the turquoise robe she was wearing.  “Hi, stranger,” she said, pulling him into the suite and closing the door before drawing him in for a kiss.  

Oliver closed his eyes as he kissed her back, his free arm wrapping around her and pulling her in close to him.  It was like kissing her for the first time, discovering the magic of Felicity all over again: the way she tasted like sunshine, the soft citrus scent of her hair, the warm curves of her body underneath the thin silk of her robe.

Kissing her, holding her, made all of his doubts vanish.  In this moment, he believed that she wanted him and that they could make this work.  Because they were just too good at this, because this connection was just too strong for it to be only sex.  

There was more between them than the physical.  On his part . . . and on hers.

Felicity let out a soft noise, part sigh, part moan, before she pulled her lips away from his.  But she stayed pressed up against him, probably up on her tiptoes even with her heels, her arms wrapped around his neck.  “That was some hello kiss,” she said softly, gazing up at him through his lashes.  

“I missed you,” he replied, the words slipping out easily, naturally.  Because they were true.  Even when he hadn’t missed an appointment, he missed her when they weren’t together.  

Letting out a quiet chuckle, Felicity pecked his lips and slid her hands from the back of his neck to the center of his chest.  “You are very sweet.  And you also brought sushi, so you are officially my favorite person.”  

Even though it was the kind of teasing banter that Felicity had always thrown his way, Oliver couldn’t help reacting differently now.  Before, he would do his best to keep up with her, send a witty line back to her.  But now, he couldn’t help ducking his head and smiling like a schoolboy.  

“Do you want to eat first?” Felicity asked, her hands drifting lower to stroke his abs.  

If he was going to ask Felicity out, having sex first was definitely out.  Thankfully, for once his body reacted in a way that helped him: his stomach rumbled.  

“I guess that’s my answer,” Felicity said amid her giggles.  He grinned sheepishly at her and nodded.

“Sorry, I didn’t have much time for lunch today.”  

“It’s okay, Oliver,” she said, giving him another peck and then taking the bag from him.  “Pour yourself a drink and I’ll bring everything over.”  

With a nod, Oliver moved towards the bar cart, watching Felicity out of the corner of his eye.  She looked loose and relaxed, moving around her small kitchen with the free and easy movements that seemed to define her.  She wasn’t necessarily light on her feet, but she had her own kind of grace.  

Suddenly, he realized he was staring at her, with the uncapped decanter of Scotch in his hands.  He needed to act normal--because Felicity was bound to see any change in behavior in him and want to figure out why.  And that wasn’t how he wanted tonight to go.  He didn’t want his plans to get derailed.  

“What would you like to drink?” he called out to her after he poured himself a finger of Scotch.  

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” Felicity replied, carrying chopsticks and napkins and bowls of soy sauce to the coffee table.  

For some reason, her usual response made him pause.  He looked at her as she headed back to the kitchen.  “But what would you _like_?”

She halted, her body in profile to him, and turned her head to meet his gaze.  “What?” she asked, blinking at him as her shoulders hunched ever-so-slightly.

“I said, what would you like to drink?” he asked, putting extra emphasis on the words ‘you’ and ‘like’.  Wanting to make it clear that she could ask for whatever she wanted--that she didn’t have to have the same drink as he did.  

Her lips parted slightly, her head tilting to one side.  “Oliver, what’s going on?”  

“Nothing,” he said quickly.  “I just thought, it’s no trouble to prepare whatever you want to drink, since you’re taking the time to arrange the food.”  

Maybe he was imagining it all, but he thought he saw her shoulders drop as she breathed out.  “Oh.  Um . . . well, if you don’t mind . . .”

“I don’t,” Oliver reassured her, giving her a small, gentle smile.  “I’m actually really good at pouring drinks.  I run a club, after all.  Well, I used to, at least.”  

As he had hoped, his small joke made Felicity smile.  “There’s a bottle of red wine on the bottom shelf.  I’d love a glass of that.”  

“Coming right up,” he said cheerfully, bending down to retrieve the bottle.  There was a corkscrew beside the wine glasses, so he retrieved it and went to work on opening the bottle.  He had removed the foil from around the bottle and started inserting the corkscrew when he realized Felicity was still looking at him.  When he met her eyes, she startled slightly and then hurried back into the kitchen.  

By the time Felicity carried their plates of sushi out of the kitchen, Oliver was sitting on the couch, sipping from his glass of Scotch.  He had brought the bottle and a glass to the table.  He leaned forward as Felicity sat down beside him.  “Say when,” he told her as he lifted the bottle and began to pour.

“When,” she said with a smile after he had given her a generous amount of wine.  “And thank you.”  As soon as he set down the bottle, she rested her hand on his arm and leaned in to kiss him softly.  

“You’re welcome,” he said softly against her lips as the kiss ended, not wanting to move away from her, not wanting her to stop kissing him.  But then his stomach grumbled again, and Felicity laughed, that same bell-like laugh that he loved, and Oliver had to grin and shake his head.  

“Let’s get some food in you before your stomach gnaws its way out of your body and onto the table,” Felicity said with a grin.  

Shuddering a little, Oliver reached for his plate.  “That’s . . . vivid.  It sounds like some kind of horror movie.”

“It seemed appropriate with our choice of food,” Felicity replied breezily, lifting up her plate and then curling against his side.  

“I don’t follow,” he said as he dipped a piece of dragon roll into the small bowl of soy sauce.  

“Japanese food?  Horror?” Felicity asked, giving him a look.  “Have you never seen a Godzilla movie?”  

Oliver shook his head, prompting Felicity to groan.  “You are so uncultured.  Godzilla movies are the best.”

“Uncultured?” he said with a laugh.  “My mother says the same thing about me, but it’s usually when she remembers I don’t like opera.”  

“I’m with you on that one,” Felicity replied, pointing her chopsticks at him.  “Opera is really boring.  I always fall asleep during them.”  

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her more, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t like the answer.  That she had to go to operas because a client insisted she accompany him and she had to go, even though she didn’t like it.  It made him feel even better about insisting she drink what she wanted tonight--and resolved to keep giving her choices and encouraging her to decide for herself.  

“I thought Godzilla was science-fiction,” Oliver replied, trying to keep Felicity talking.  Wanting to find out more about something she liked.  

“They are, I guess.  I mean, lizard gets irradiated by a random nuclear bomb and becomes giant dinosaur rampaging through Tokyo: very science-fiction.  But really, Godzilla and Mothra and Gamera--all those monster movies set the stage for the kind of horror movie that’s about something creepy and destructive.  Something you can’t reason with--something that just wants to rip you to pieces,” Felicity said, putting down her plate and using her hands to punctuate what she was saying.  

As she kept talking and explaining movies that he had never heard of, Oliver kept putting pieces of sushi in his mouth.  Grateful that his apparent hunger had allowed him to keep eating, so Felicity had to carry the conversation.  Because he had never heard her talk so much, with so much passion, and it made him realize just how much he had to learn about her.  

“That’s why I was so excited about _Pacific Rim_ \--I really hope the sequel is good and--wow, I’ve been talking a lot,” Felicity said suddenly, her cheeks going pink.  She waved her chopsticks at her nearly-full plate and then at his empty one.  

“No, it’s okay,” Oliver told her, smiling as he reached out to stroke her upper arm.  “I was hungry.  And I liked hearing you talk.  About something you’re interested in, I mean.”  

“You would be the first person who did,” she said with a lopsided, slightly embarrassed smile.  She lifted up a piece of sushi.  “Are you still hungry?”  

He grinned.  “Are you going to share your sushi with me?”  

“Maybe,” Felicity teased, lifting the sushi to his lips.  “Open wide.”  

With a small smirk, he did as she asked, and Felicity popped the sushi into his mouth.  He coughed a little as the spices hit his tongue.  He chewed and swallowed, then picked up his glass and took a sip of Scotch.  “What was that?” he asked, once he didn’t feel like his tongue was on fire.

“Firecracker roll,” Felicity said with an innocent smile before picking up her wine glass and taking a sip.  “Not too spicy, I hope?”

“Just a little,” he replied, trying not to wheeze.  “You could kiss me to make up for scorching my taste buds.”  

Felicity let out a soft giggle and leaned in, brushing a sweet kiss over his lips.  “Better?”  

“Better,” he answered quietly, sliding an arm around her and holding her close to him.  

“So what’s going on with you?” Felicity asked as she soaked one of her pieces of sushi in the soy sauce.  She put it in her mouth and chewed before using her chopsticks to add some wasabi to the soy sauce.  

“Mostly trying to keep the peace with my mom,” he said idly, too caught up in watching her to think through his words.  

Oliver knew just how clever Felicity’s fingers were.  But he was impressed again with how good she was with her hands when she was able to hold a piece of sushi in her chopsticks, halfway between her plate and her mouth, for a solid ten seconds.  Or, he would be, if he wasn’t busy thinking about how stupid he was for bringing up his mother.  

“What’s going on with your mom?” Felicity asked, dropping her sushi back to her plate.  

“Nothing . . .” he replied slowly, seeing her face fall.  

“Oliver, you need to talk to her,” Felicity said, putting her plate aside and shifting, her body moving so she could face him.  “I know it’s hard, but you both deserve to have this conversation, to resolve this issue, instead of letting it fester.”  

Rubbing a hand over his face, he nodded.  “You’re right.  I should talk to her.  I just . . .”

“You just what?” Felicity asked softly, resting her hand on his bicep.  

“It’s being that vulnerable with her, by telling her how she--how her actions affected me,” Oliver said, his words coming slowly.  “I’ve lost some of my trust in her, and I don’t know if I have enough to talk to her.”  

To his surprise, Felicity moved closer to him, moving underneath his arm and wrapping her arms around his chest.  The position was a bit awkward, with her knees folded underneath her and her hip pressed against his, but the grip she had on him was firm and strong.  He curved his arm around her as she started to talk.  “I know how difficult this is for you, Oliver.  I know you don’t want to hurt your mother.”  She paused and smiled at him.  “The way you are with the people you love . . . it’s amazing, Oliver.  You’d walk over hot coals before you’d hurt them.”

His mouth felt dry, so he just nodded slowly.  

“I’m sorry if I’ve pushed you too much on this--if I’ve badgered you about talking to your mother,” Felicity continued.  “But this is just another thing that weighs you down, and it’s something you don’t have to carry.”

Her small hands gently stroked his side.  “It’ll be okay, Oliver,” she said softly.  “Whenever you talk to your mother, she’ll listen.  And she’ll still love you.  That won’t ever change.”  

When Felicity spoke, when she explained things, it all sounded so positive.  So possible.  There was something about her that made him think he could do anything, be anyone.  It was an addictive feeling.  

So it was no wonder that he lowered his head and kissed her slowly and softly.  Letting his lips tell her all that and more, until he could work up the courage to say those words to her.  And the amazing thing was, the longer they kissed, the more he could feel that courage and hope and anticipation course through his body, getting him ready to ask her out.  

But before that, he just wanted to kiss her for a while.  

Underneath the wine and the sushi, the same sweet flavor of Felicity’s mouth was there.  He let himself get lost in her taste, his tongue stroking hers before sucking gently on her lower lip.  She sighed softly and let her head fall back, giving him an even better angle--one that made his blood grow hot.  The kiss turned desperate, their hands moving over their bodies as their fingers searched for bare skin.  

And then suddenly, Felicity was in his lap and his tie was undone and his shirt was half-unbuttoned.  

“Wait--wait,” he gasped, his hands falling to her hips and easing her back from him, moving her warmth away from his cock.  

“Wait?” she repeated, blinking at him.  “Oliver?”  

He knew how he wanted to start this, and being breathless and dazed by her, while incredibly appealing, was not the approach he wanted to take.  

“Yeah--I’m sorry--I just--I have something I wanted to tell you first.  To ask you,” Oliver stuttered, feeling like he had the first time he asked a girl out.  Who had been Laurel.  

Felicity’s forehead was wrinkled and her lips were slightly pursed.  “Okay,” she said softly, rubbing his arms gently.  “What is it?”  

Taking a few deep breaths, Oliver got himself under control.  Focused on going over the steps of his plan.  Then, he looked at Felicity and did his best to smile, in order to reassure her.  “I just wanted to apologize for canceling on you for Sunday, especially with how I left on Wednesday night.”  

As he hoped, her face immediately smoothed.  “It’s okay, Oliver.  You don’t have to feel guilty and keep apologizing.  I mean, the flowers were enough of an apology.”  She turned on his lap and gestured towards the kitchen counter, where the flowers were displayed.  “They’re beautiful--I love the arrangement.”  

“They look nice,” Oliver said, his hands tightening a little on Felicity’s hips.  

Turning back, she looked at him, then reached one finger out to stroke his brows.  “You know, when a client starts canceling on me--even if he lets me know in advance--I usually end things.  Because it usually means they’ve learned all I can teach them, but they don’t know how to say they’re done.  And because I want dependable clients.”  

“Is that so?” he asked quietly, keeping his eyes locked on her face.  

She nodded, her hair brushing against her shoulders.  “More than a couple of times, and I sit down with the client and find some way of letting him off the hook.  Helping him find what he really needs, since if he’s canceling appointments, it’s clearly not me.”  

“That makes sense,” Oliver said.  “Have I . . . I haven’t reached that point yet, have I?”  

Smiling at him, Felicity shook her head.  “No, Oliver.  You’re safe.”

“Good,” he said, letting his hands rub her hips slowly.  Not looking away from her.  “Although I don’t think I’m safe.”  

One of Felicity’s eyebrows went up and she tilted her head to one side.  “I don’t follow you, Oliver.”  

“I don’t think it’s about me not reaching the point where you’d talk to me about finding what I really need,” Oliver said, his voice sounding deeper than normal.  “I think it’s about you making an exception for me.”  

Now both of her eyebrows had gone up and she was frowning.  She was clearly confused, but he could also sense a hint of defensiveness coming off her.  Which he understood.  He was directly challenging her, in a way he had never done before.  Because he was talking about how she ran her business, without it being about him being jealous of her other clients.  So she was trying to figure out where he was going with this.  Trying to figure out how she should react.  

“I think I’m an exception to all your rules,” Oliver replied to her unasked question.  “I think you bend the rules for me, so . . . so I want to see how far you’re willing to bend.”  

“Okay, hold on for a minute,” Felicity said, climbing off his lap and standing before him.  She folded her arms across her chest, looking at him with narrowed eyes.  “Is this about what happened a few weeks ago?  With you trying to tell me what to do?”

“No, Felicity,” he said, wanting to stand up and take back the height advantage.  But he knew if he stood up and used his height against her, she wouldn’t really listen to him.  And he needed her to listen.  To see that this wasn’t about him being her client or her being his dominatrix.  

It was about them.  Just Oliver and Felicity.

So he didn’t move or shift from his relaxed posture on the couch, his legs still stretched out in front of him and his shirt partially undone.  He tilted his head back a little so he could meet her eyes and said, and without any hesitation, “I’d like to take you out to dinner, Felicity.”  

Her reaction was interesting.  And gave him a shot of hope.  Because for a moment, her eyes fluttered and her breath caught.  But then, she put on a wide smile.  “Oliver, we just ate.”  

“I know that,” he said with a small smile.  Trying to act like this wasn’t one of the most important moments of his life.  “Not tonight.  I’d like to take you out to dinner, the next evening you’re free.”  

“If you’re sure you want to be seen together in public . . .” Felicity said slowly, before turning her back on him and walking over to the kitchen counter.  She picked up her tablet from where it had been sitting next to the flowers he had sent her.  “But if that’s what you want, we can go out on Sunday.”

“Is Sunday the first night you’re free?” Oliver asked, watching her.  Waiting to see what she would do.  Because with her back to him, it would be easier for her to hide her true reaction to his question.  Easier to hide what she was feeling.

Other than pausing for perhaps a moment too long before she answered him, Felicity gave away nothing.  But that split-second of hesitation was enough for Oliver.  She was trying to keep her walls up, but he thought she was having trouble with that.  It was like she was trying to play coy and make him spell things out for her.  Hoping he wouldn’t, even though with as smart as Felicity was, he suspected that she didn’t know what was going on.  

Or, more likely, didn’t want to think about what he was doing.  Because if she did that, she would have to face up to her emotions.  And Oliver didn’t think Felicity did that very often.

“I . . . I’m not doing anything on Friday,” Felicity replied slowly.  When she swiveled around to face him, she clutched her tablet against her chest and looked at him briefly before quickly averting her gaze.  She lowered her tablet and tapped a finger against the screen.

The more confident he was that Felicity was actually considering his offer, the more submissive Oliver attempted to be.  He kept his hands loosely clasped together in his lap, kept leaning back against the sofa like they were talking about something unimportant.  

“Then would you join me for dinner on Friday night?” he asked, gazing up at her.  

Felicity nodded quickly.  “We can swap Sunday night for Friday night, no problem.”

This wasn’t working.  Felicity was still thinking of them in their normal roles.  He needed to know if _she_ wanted to go out with him.  Not because he was a client, but because he was _him_.

He hadn’t planned for this--for Felicity to refuse to understand him.  So he needed a moment to work out what to say, to find the words that would make her see this was about a date, not an appointment.

“Do you remember the question you asked me?  The night I called you to set up our first session?”

Her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked.  “What?  I mean . . . yes, I do.”

Now he stood up, staying right by the couch and maintaining the distance between them.  “What was your question, Felicity?”

“I asked you what kind of man you would be if you put down your burdens, if you stopped carrying so many responsibilities,” Felicity said, her eyes slightly narrowed.  “Oliver, what’s going on?”

“Just--just give me a minute,” he requested, holding his hand up to her.  “It’ll all make sense in a minute.”

“Okay,” she said, her lips twisting a little.

That was such a Felicity reaction: amusement and belief mixing with confusion and a little bit of frustration.  It made him smile, like so many of her actions and words.  “I promise, it will.  Because that question . . . I figured out an answer, Felicity.”

At his words, her face brightened.  “You did?” she asked, taking a few steps towards him.

Oliver nodded, still smiling at her.  “I did.  Do you want to know the answer?”

“Of course I want to know!” Felicity exclaimed, tucking her tablet under her arm and reaching out to brush her fingertips against his shoulder.  “I’m so glad you’ve found your answer.”  

So was he.  Oliver just hoped that Felicity wouldn’t misunderstand him again.  

Although now that the moment was here, all of his earlier nerves and doubts came rushing back over him, like an ocean wave.  He took a deep breath, trying not to drown in those feelings, and gathered his courage.  Felicity didn’t say anything, just shifted a few inches closer so she could rest her hand on his bicep.

“I . . .”  Oliver started slowly, before he cleared his throat.  “I want to be the kind of man who doesn’t let anything hold him back.  Whether it’s at work or in love.”

It wasn’t much of a speech.  Maybe two dozen words, with no flowery phrases or fancy language.  But each and every word was heartfelt, the product of all his work, alone and with Felicity and with the other people in his life.  So he knew it was the truth--it was _his_ truth, the foundation for the rest of his life, the goal that he wanted to achieve.

And as he spoke each of those words, he didn’t look away from Felicity.  So he saw every aspect of her reaction to his statement.

There was definitely pride and respect at first.  But as he talked he saw how those emotions faded, replaced with a dawning awareness of something more going on.  An awareness that suddenly crystallized into understanding at his final word.

“Oh,” she whispered, her eyes big and blue and full of complete and utter shock.

By his count, this was the third time he would ask her this question.  But honestly, he thought he would be willing to ask her a hundred times--a thousand--if that was what it took.  If that was what she needed in order to believe that he was asking her out for real.

“Felicity,” he said softly, “would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Oliver . . . I don’t know . . . do you realize what you’re saying?  What you’re asking of me?”  Her words stopped and started; whether from confusion or surprise or something else, he wasn’t sure.

“I know what I’m saying,” he confirmed for her, reaching up to take the hand that had been clutching his bicep.  He wrapped his fingers around hers so he was holding her hand, savoring the contact with her smooth skin.  

Felicity gave a small shake of her head and stepped closer to him.  “Just to be very, very clear, you’re asking me out?  On a date?  A . . . a date-date?”

Yet again, she made him smile.  Even as he waited for an answer, even as he watched her mind go over all of this, even as he knew if she said no, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

“Yes, Felicity,” he said, before one of his thoughts finally sank in.  “I wouldn’t be paying you to go out with me.  You only need to say yes if you want to go on a date with me.”

Her head bobbed as she nodded, but it wasn’t a nod of agreement--more of acknowledgement that she understood she didn’t have to say yes.  At least, he hoped that was what it was.  Felicity seemed totally immersed in her thoughts, her eyes gazing off into the distance.  Until she said, in a small, quiet voice, “Yes.”

“Yes?” he repeated, hearing the surprise in his own voice.  

She licked her lips and nodded, her eyes hesitantly meeting his.  “Yes.  Yes, I’d like to go out with you.”

At that moment, when he felt his lips curve up into a wide, beaming smile--a smile that Felicity returned, albeit in a smaller, anxious way--Oliver Queen realized that he really was the man he wanted to be, right at this moment.

And that man had a date on Friday night with the woman he loved.

End, Chapter 11


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go: the chapter I’m perhaps the most nervous about. Because if you can’t buy Oliver and Felicity as a couple after this chapter, the rest of this fic isn’t going to work. So here’s hoping I pull off that feat! Thank you to everyone for all the support and love!

Navigating his Porsche through the typical Friday night traffic clogging the streets of Starling City, Oliver gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.  Because tonight was the night: his chance to show Felicity his feelings, to demonstrate just how good they could be together. 

Ever since he had left Felicity’s suite on Wednesday night, kissing her goodnight after she had agreed to go to dinner with him, he had been thinking about tonight.  Trying to keep his hopes and expectations in check.  After all, he didn’t know that much about Felicity--what he learned about her tonight might change his opinion of her.  And while she knew a lot about him, she might realize that her feelings for him, whatever they were, weren’t of the romantic variety.

But then he would think about how she had kissed him goodbye that evening, or the way she had looked when she realized he was actually asking her out, or any of a dozen other moments from Wednesday night, and he was lost in his daydreams.  Imagining what it might be like to have Felicity as his girlfriend.  To see her every day, to wake up to her and have her come home to him.  

Just having Felicity say yes--having her agree to go out with him--had given him so much hope, Oliver didn’t know if there was any way for him to manage his expectations.  So he gave himself over to the giddy, blissful anticipation.  It had helped him get through the next two days, which had still seemed to last more than twenty-four hours each.  

Somehow, though, he had made it through.  He had managed to stay mostly focused at work, had kept from snapping at his mother, had held off Thea’s questioning looks.  And now, it was just before seven and he was nearing the Starling Grand to pick up Felicity.  

Should he have picked Italian?  Maybe he should have gone with sushi; they could have gone to Sakura . . . but no, they always did sushi on Wednesday nights.  He had wanted to do something different, something that felt more like a date.  And D’Annunzio’s was a Starling City institution, quiet and intimate and warm.  Whenever he stepped inside that restaurant, it gave him the same feeling he got when he was with Felicity.

And when he had asked Felicity if she liked Italian, she had said she loved it.  

With a small smile turning up the corners of his lips, Oliver smoothly pulled the car to the curb of the hotel, stepping out of the car and waving the valet over.  “I don’t suppose you could pull my car around to the back entrance and wait for me there?” he asked the valet, pressing a fifty into the man’s palm.  

“Of course, sir,” the valet said with a tip of his hat.  “It would be my pleasure.”  

“Thank you,” Oliver said, nodding to the man and handing over his keys before heading into the hotel.  

He buttoned his suit jacket as he walked through the lobby, his head lifted high and his shoulders back.  It took him back to his Ollie days, when he would step into any room and expect all eyes to be on him.  But tonight, he only cared about one pair of eyes.  

When he reached the elevator, he pressed the call button and waited, tapping his foot as he felt his impatience grow.  He tugged on the cuffs of his shirt and smoothed a hand down his front, making sure his tie was tucked into his suit jacket.  

The doors opened and he hurried to step inside, only to draw back when he nearly collided with Felicity.  

She let out a small gasp.  “Oliver!”  

They had agreed to meet at her suite, so Oliver didn’t know why she had come to the lobby.  It was lucky that they had run into each other like this.  Because missing each other would have made the start of this date even more awkward.  

None of those thoughts really registered with Oliver, though.  Not when he got his first look at her.  At a Felicity who was going on a date.  Because her beauty made him absolutely speechless.  

Her hair was gently curled, hanging around her shoulders like a golden curtain.  She was wearing a demure red dress, one that came to her knees and with a high neck, but it still revealed her curves in a way that made his hands itch to touch her.  Her heels were high and strappy, her lips were a deep pink, and there was the faintest trace of a different perfume--something sweeter than her usual citrus scent.  

Oliver felt his heart pounding at the knowledge that she had picked him.  This beautiful, smart, amazing woman was willing to spend her evening with  _him_.

“Hi,” he blurted out, when he realized he had just been staring at her without saying a word.  “I--I  thought I was going to meet you upstairs?”  

“Oh . . . yes, I know that was the plan,” Felicity said, brushing some of her hair back and showing off a thin golden bracelet around her wrist.  “I just . . .”  

Her voice trailed off as she met his eyes.  Suddenly she smiled.  “I was nervous.  I couldn’t wait in my room any longer.”  

“Nervous?” he asked, stepping closer to her.  

She nodded, looking up at him.  “I was pacing.  And wringing my hands.  I felt like Lady Macbeth, only without the king of Scotland’s blood all over my hands.  So I decided to come down here and meet you in the lobby.”  

One corner of his mouth turned up slowly as he smiled at her.  Because Felicity was  _nervous_.  She was nervous about going out with him.  

You only got nervous about something that mattered.  About something that was important to you.  About someone that you liked.  

“You look beautiful,” Oliver said, reaching out to lightly cup one of her elbows, using all his willpower to keep his fingers still instead of rubbing her skin.  “I hope you’re hungry, because D’Annunzio’s believes in big portions.”  

“I am hungry,” she said, her cheeks flushing.  “And--thank you.  You look very handsome.”  

Now it was his turn to blush, because . . . it wasn’t like she hadn’t complimented him before.  But this felt different--it was different, but he couldn’t put his finger on how.  

“Thank you,” he said softly.  “My car is by the back entrance, if you’re ready . . .?”  

Felicity nodded quickly, resting her hand on his forearm while his hand still held her elbow.  “I’m ready.”

There were so many things he wanted to say to her.  Yet he didn’t know how to start, so he contented himself with sliding his hand down her arm.  When he reached her hand, he wrapped his fingers lightly around hers.  “Okay.”  

And hand in hand, they walked out to his car, where he helped her into the passenger seat before moving quickly around the car to slide in behind the wheel.  

Pulling away from the curb, Oliver focused on merging into the traffic, glancing at Felicity, and figuring out something to say.  He hadn’t ever felt this nervous and tongue-tied around a woman.  As much time as he had spent with Felicity, he felt like she was a stranger to him.  No--not a stranger, really.  Just someone he really, really wanted to get to know better.  

“This car is so small.  Don’t you feel cramped?”  

Her question came out of nowhere, making Oliver look over at her.  “What?”

“You’re so tall, and this car is so little,” Felicity said, gesturing around the interior.  “You must get uncomfortable in here.”  

Chuckling, Oliver shook his head.  “No, I don’t, actually.  Not that I’ve gone road tripping in this car, but no, I’m okay.”  He took advantage of being stopped at a red light to look at her.  To enjoy the sight of her in the passenger seat, and to imagine for a moment that their positions were reversed and she was the one driving the car.  Which prompted him to shift in his seat and realize that yes, this car was a bit too small for him.  Or maybe it was because his pants suddenly felt too tight.  

She smiled at him.  “Good.”  

The light turned green and Oliver hit the gas, although he kept the car at a reasonable speed as he drove them to the restaurant.  Felicity’s remark about the car had broken the ice for the most part, letting them chat the rest of the drive.  Not about anything very deep, but just talking to Felicity about his first car and finding out she hadn’t gotten her driver’s license until she was eighteen was enough for him.  

Because it was another bit of her past.  Another piece of the puzzle.  And they had the whole evening ahead of them.  Hours to talk, hours for him to ask her at least some of his questions.  

It wasn’t until they were inside the restaurant, seated at a table in the middle of the dining room--away from the windows where passers-by could level gawking looks at them, away from the doors into the kitchen and bathrooms that were noisy and crowded--that Oliver felt like he could do something other than make small talk.  But first, they needed to order their drinks.  

“You like red wine, yes?” Oliver asked, gazing at Felicity over the softly-glowing candles in the center of the table.  

Felicity nodded, her lips twisting into an amused smile.  “I do.  As you know from Wednesday night.”  

“Good.  I hope you don’t mind, but I know that the sommelier here has access to a bottle of Lafite-Rothschild 1982 . . . I took the liberty of asking if he might prepare it for serving, if you were interested in trying it,” Oliver said, trying to sound casual.  Trying not to sound like a billionaire seducing her with a bottle of wine worth thousands of dollars.  

As he expected, Felicity clearly knew the value of that bottle of wine.  Her eyes widening and her lips parting told him that.  And when she pressed her lips together and smiled bashfully before nodding, Oliver was very grateful he had remembered his family’s wine cellar included that bottle of wine, and that he had dropped it off at D’Annunzio’s earlier.  

Nodding to the waiter hovering nearby, Oliver asked for the Lafite-Rothschild to be decanted and brought to their table, before looking at Felicity with a pleased smile.

“I’ve had that vintage before and it was amazing,” Felicity said softly, her fingers twitching a little against her place setting.

What?  She had?  He held back a sigh, feeling strangely deflated at having his grand gesture undercut like that.  But he did his best to put his smile back on his face, for her sake.  “Yeah?”  

“Yeah,” she said, nodding and then turning her head to flick her hair over her shoulder.  “It was--”  

When she stopped and didn’t continue, Oliver considered pressing her.  Asking her to go on.  But instead, he waited her out.  Gave her a moment to collect her thoughts.  

“It was with the woman who trained me,” Felicity finally said, her words landing as heavily as stones in a pond.  “It was part of my training, actually.  Learning how to drink fine wines and high-quality liquor.”  She pressed her lips together and shook her head.  “This is some first date material.”  

“You can talk about whatever you want, Felicity,” Oliver replied, not taking his eyes off her face.  “Whatever you have to say, I’ll listen.  I--I’m always listening to you.  Trying to find out more about you from what you tell me.”  

There was a flicker of something in her eyes, something worried and uncertain.  Then she glanced away, an ironic smile appearing on her face.  “So are you saying you remember everything about me?”

“I’ve tried to remember everything,” Oliver answered.  “You used to babble until you trained yourself not to do it anymore, you grew up in Las Vegas, you get chilly, you have a master’s degree in computer science and cyber security and know how to hack, you hate mysteries, you like sushi and Japanese monster movies, you got your driver’s license at eighteen . . .”

As he spoke, he saw Felicity’s expression change.  She was skeptical at first, but slowly, the more he told her about herself, the skepticism faded and was replaced with--well, he almost wanted to call it awe.  

“You remembered all that?”  She sounded breathless, like she couldn’t believe what he had told her.  

Oliver nodded, looking right at her.  He opened his mouth to speak, only for the waiter to appear with the wine.  Leaning back, he took a few breaths and watched as the wine was poured.  Almost glad for the waiter’s interruption, because he had been on the verge of just telling Felicity everything.  And he wanted a chance to get to know more about Felicity, add to the random facts he knew about her.  To have this be like a traditional first date.  

Once the waiter had left them, with wine in their glasses and the bottle beside them in a serving bucket, Oliver gave Felicity a soft smile.  Lifting his glass, he tilted his head as he looked at her.  “Do you like toasts?”

“I do--but they’re tough to get right,” she said, lifting her glass and giving him a delightful smirk of a smile.  

Arching an eyebrow, he gazed at the wine in his glass for a moment, then looked back at Felicity.  In the soft candlelight, she looked so beautiful and soft and real, that the words came out of his mouth before he had even realized them.  “To solving all the mysteries.”  

Her lips turned up in a soft smile.  “To solving all the mysteries,” she echoed, lightly tapping her glass against his with a clink.  Then she took a slow sip of her wine, looking straight into his eyes.  

When he brought the glass to his lips, the perfume of the wine hit his nose, rich and spicy, smelling like fruit and oak trees.  Then, when he tasted it, his eyes slipped closed for a split-second, the flavor exploding on his tongue.  It was so deep, so full and powerful . . .

It was the closest he had ever come to tasting something that reminded him of Felicity.  Not that the wine tasted like her--the wine was like her.  Strong and complex, soft and lingering.  

A quiet sigh made him look to Felicity, who had a blissful, content smile on her face.  “It’s even better than I remembered,” she breathed out.  Then she met his eyes and her smile grew even softer.  “Or maybe it’s the company.”  

His heart fluttered in his chest and it was all he could do not to immediately confess everything he felt for her.  But somehow, he managed to hold it together enough to keep from going there.  From totally blowing up this date.  

“It really is amazing.  I’m glad I’m sharing it with you,” Oliver replied, holding her eyes.  

Felicity gazed at him, then laughed softly, ducking her head.  “This isn’t exactly first date material, either.  I feel like we’re in a sappy romance novel.  Not that I have any problems with romance novels--just sappy ones.”  

“Well, if you want this more like a first date, I’m sure we could do that . . .” Oliver said, wanting to tease her a little.  But also because he agreed with her.  It was easy to get lost in looking at her, at letting his eyes do all his talking.  And while he loved gazing at her, he wanted to actually talk to Felicity tonight.  

“I think I’d have to make an awkward double entendre to reach critical first date mass,” Felicity joked back, making him grin wider.  

“Then please, feel free,” he said, waving a hand at her.

She laughed again, and Oliver chuckled, and everything felt right.  

“Oh, I can’t just break out an innuendo like that.  Which is probably a good thing,” Felicity said.  She took another small sip of her wine and smiled at him.  “So I’ve always wanted to ask someone this . . .”

“I am an open book,” he said, folding his arms on the table and leaning slightly towards her.  

A mischievous smile appeared on her face.  “What’s it like being a billionaire?”

Oliver couldn’t help it: he laughed.  Loudly--loud enough that quite a few heads in the restaurant swiveled in their direction.  

“Shhh!” Felicity whispered, grinning at him even as she shushed him.  “I didn’t think it was that funny of a question.”  

“No--it isn’t, it’s just not one that anyone ever asks me,” Oliver said, grinning at her.  

“Their loss.  Who wouldn’t want to know what it’s like to be a billionaire?” Felicity asked, tucking some hair behind her ear as she returned his grin.  

Nodding, he took a moment to actually think about her question.  “I don’t know.  I mean, it’s just part of my life.  Like having blue eyes.  I can’t imagine it being any different, although it could be, I guess.”  

He let one finger trace around the rim of his wine glass.  “That’s how I ended up in the place I was in, before we met,” he told her, glancing at her and noticing how closely she was listening to him.  “All the pressure to make sure I didn’t bankrupt the company, that I didn’t lose it all . . . it was a lot to carry.”  

“You weren’t carrying it alone, though,” Felicity said quietly.  “I mean, if you thought that you were, you’re saying that everyone who works for you doesn’t care if Queen Consolidated fails.  And I don’t think that’s the way it is.”  

Something about her words caught his attention.  They weren’t that different from other things she had said to him, but . . . they felt different.  Like this was more of Felicity’s own perspective, instead of her usual reassurances to him.  

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he said, looking at her.  

“I suppose being a billionaire means feeling like you’re responsible?”

He had to laugh.  “When I was younger, I didn’t.”  

“Well, everyone’s kind of stupid when they’re young,” Felicity said with a small smile.  “I was.”  

“Even though you’re a genius?” Oliver asked, unable to resist the urge to wink at her.  

Her cheeks flushed and she shrugged one shoulder.  “I am.  But yeah, I made plenty of dumb decisions.  Trusted people I shouldn’t have trusted . . . things like that.”  

It was an opening.  One that he was going to take, even if he felt nervous about it.  “Was that when you were growing up in Vegas?”  

Felicity’s eyes snapped to his.  It was clear she was fully aware of what he was doing: trying to get her to open up.  The moment stretched out between them, full of quiet tension, before Felicity spoke.  “Actually--um, no, not in Vegas.  Not really.”  She took a deep breath.  “In Boston.  When I was in school.”  

Shifting a little, Oliver unfolded his arms and let one hand rest on the table between them.  “What happened?” he asked gently.  

“Like I said, I trusted the wrong people.  The wrong person.  My--my boyfriend,” she said softly, not really looking him in the eye.  “I loved him, so I let myself get carried away.  Do things I didn’t think were right.  And it went very, very badly.”  

Oliver didn’t know what to say.  Or at least, nothing that wouldn’t seem like a patronizing platitude.  So he just stayed quiet, trying to give her a measure of the support that she had given him.  

But as he watched Felicity gaze at the flickering candles between them, he resolved that if she ever asked him for his help, if she ever asked him for anything, he would give it to her. No matter what.  

After a moment, Felicity gave her head a little shake, pressing her eyes shut as she apparently gathered her composure.  Then she lifted her eyes to meet his, courage and determination visible in every line of her body.  “Solving all the mysteries, huh?”  

Giving her a sympathetic smile, he nodded.  “I was really just talking about finding out what your favorite color was or your favorite food, but I’m willing to learn anything about you.”

It was strange, how no matter what they tried to do, they couldn’t seem to keep this light and easy.  Like a real first date.  Instead of banter and trite questions, they kept getting into serious territory.  Oliver wasn’t sure what it meant.  Maybe their previous interactions meant they couldn’t do something simple like act like two people on a first date.  Maybe that connection of theirs meant they didn’t need small talk--that they could get right to the important things.  He wasn’t sure.  

“Maybe we should stop trying to make this something it isn’t,” Oliver suggested slowly.  “Stop trying to act like this is a first date, like any others we’ve been on.”  

“So what do you think we should do?” Felicity asked, taking a sip of her wine.  

He shrugged his shoulders.  “Maybe we should just talk about whatever we want to talk about and enjoy ourselves.”  He looked at her.  “Does that sound okay to you?”

There was something about watching Felicity think.  Seeing her chew on her lower lip, seeing her eyes go a bit distant as she worked her way through a problem or a dilemma.  It was amazing.  

And when she looked at him and smiled, Oliver didn’t feel like a guy who had barely scraped his way through college.  He felt like he could keep up with her.  Like he was worthy.  

“That sounds great,” Felicity said.  “So . . . time for something very important.”  

“Yes?” he asked, trying not to feel nervous.  

“What are we going to order?” she asked, gesturing to the menus before each of them--the menus they hadn’t even looked at yet.  

Yet again, she made him laugh.  Helped defuse a little of the tension.  Made him feel more comfortable.  He hoped he was doing that for her, too.  

“How could we have let ourselves get so distracted?” he asked, opening up his menu and smiling at her.  

“I don’t know, but clearly, our priorities are very messed up,” Felicity teased him back.  

“Oh, yeah,” he said, giving her another smile before he focused on the chef’s specials.

Although really, food was the least of his priorities right now.  Because right now on his list of priorities, there was only one entry:  Felicity.

XXX

Whether it was the simple act of ordering their dinners, or their agreement to stop trying to make this date into anything other than what it was, the rest of their meal went easily.  They fell into easy conversation, and with each exchange, Oliver felt his heart soaring.  Because he felt like he was finally meeting Felicity.

Of course, he had known from nearly the beginning that she was bright and intelligent.  But tonight, he was finding out so many things about her.  Not necessarily details about her past, but just elements that made her into the woman seated across from him.  

She was a witty conversationalist, full of quips and banter and such a fast thinker that he wasn’t sure he was keeping up.  But they kept talking.  And Oliver felt like she was enjoying herself, that she was having fun.  

Her smiles seemed so much freer, her laughter richer and more spontaneous.  While she had always teased him, tonight it wasn’t sexual.  It was like she was bubbling over with pleasure and just wanted to share it with him.  

He had always considered himself a serious person.  Even in his playboy days, he had been prone to sinking into funks, being a Broody McBrooderson as Thea had put it.  Something about being with Felicity, though, let him lighten up.  Made even the most serious of subjects seem like something that could be addressed and managed without the need for falling into darkness.  

And he thought that having someone pay attention to her, purely because they were captivated by her, made Felicity blossom like a flower.  It made him want to keep doing this.  

Because the more time he spent with her like this, the more he would fall in love with her.  And right now, there was nothing that Oliver wanted more than that.  He knew that meant their twice-weekly appointments were a thing of the past--because he would not pay Felicity for her time, or for anything else, if he could be with her like this.  If he could be with the real woman.

Their plates had just been cleared, the waiter giving them a few moments before the inevitable question about dessert.  Felicity had just finished her second glass of wine and was eyeing the bottle.  He was still nursing his second one, wanting to be able to drive them back to the Starling Grand without any risks.  “Would you like another glass?” he asked her.

“Trying to get me liquored up, Queen?” she volleyed, her smile bright and blinding.  “If you are, you’re going to fail.  I’ve drunk bigger men than you under the table.”  

“Oh, do tell,” he asked, lifting the bottle and pouring her some more, but less than her previous glasses had been filled.  

“I was a girl at MIT--being a lightweight was something you needed to get over quickly,” she told him, drinking a bit of her wine.  “But I didn’t really learn how to drink until later.”  

Probably with that training she had mentioned, Oliver realized.  But instead of taking that opening, he mentioned, “I went to Harvard for a while.  I wonder if we were in Boston at the same time.”  

“Wouldn’t it have been funny if we met then?” Felicity asked, tilting her head to the side.  

“You would have hated me,” Oliver said with confidence.  “I was a douchebag back then.  With long hair.”  

“I know, I’ve seen the pictures,” Felicity replied.  “Not your best look, Oliver.”  

Chuckling, he nodded.  “Although back then, I had a thing for cute little coeds.”  He let his eyes skim over her before he met her eyes, then frowned when he realized she was laughing.  “What?”

“Oh, I was so far from a ‘cute little coed’,” Felicity said through her giggles.  “I was a Goth.  Black hair with a purple streak, black clothes, big ass-kicking boots--the works.”  

He felt his mouth drop open as he tried to imagine Felicity with dark hair and a take-no-shit attitude.  Not only could he see it . . . he felt his body react to that mental image.  

“Earth to Oliver,” Felicity teased.  “Come in, please.”  

“Huh?  Oh, sorry,” he said, giving his head a shake.  “Just got distracted there.”  

“Mm-hmmm,” Felicity replied, taking another sip of her wine and looking at him over the rim of her glass.  

With another shake, he looked at her and smiled.  “So, do you want dessert?”  

She groaned softly.  “I do and I don’t.  I’m stuffed, but I saw that D’Annunzio’s is famous for its cannoli and I love cannoli.”  

“I’ll split one with you,” he offered, wanting to extend this just a bit longer.  “After all, I won’t be seeing you again, so I want to make tonight last.”  

“What?”

Felicity’s eyes had gone wide, her mouth hanging open.  She looked completely shocked--like she had just gotten a cherished dream crushed.  

Like she had just gotten her heart broken.  

Oliver frowned, trying to understand, and then he realized just what he had said.  What it might have sounded like to Felicity.  That in spite of how perfectly tonight had gone, she thought he didn’t want to date her anymore.  

“No, no--not like that,” he blurted out, rushing to fix his unconscious mistake.  “I--I meant as a  _client_ , I wouldn’t be seeing you again.  So that meant I’d be seeing you less, and I’m not ready for tonight to be over.”

It was impossible that he imagined the relief that he saw on Felicity’s face.  Impossible that she didn’t feel happy to discover she had misunderstood him.  He saw her take a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, as she apparently tried to look calm.  Yet she still seemed shaken up.  

“It--it might surprise you to find out I don’t date much,” she whispered, in a voice so vulnerable and achingly sad that Oliver wanted to push the table out of the way and wrap her up in his arms.  

“I am, actually.  I don’t know why any man wouldn’t want to date you,” he said, meaning every word.  Because how could anyone fail to see how special, how unique, how extraordinary Felicity was?  

Slowly, she met his eyes.  She was nibbling a little on her lower lip, and he thought she was trying to decide something.  And then, a veil lifted in her eyes as she made her choice.  

“Do you know why I said yes when you asked me out?  Which is something I’ve never done with a former client before?”  

He didn’t know what made his hopes fly higher: the fact that she was about to volunteer how he had managed to breach her walls, or the fact that she called him a former client.  Because that meant they had somehow, through luck or chance, managed to surpass the roles in which they had begun their relationship.  She didn’t see him as a client anymore: she saw him as Oliver.  

Not sure he could trust his voice, Oliver just shook his head.  She hesitated, but not from nerves, he thought.  More like she was trying to choose the right words.  

“The men I meet . . . they’re looking for something specific.  Something that they can’t get from anyone else.  In any other way.  It’s like I’m Barbara Eden from  _I Dream of Jeannie_ : they’re the master and I’m the genie, there to give them whatever they want, whatever they need.”  

Felicity paused and he once again inched his hand towards the center of the table, wanting her to know he was here, that he was listening.  

“I don’t want to make it sound like it’s all bad,” she continued.  “But it means I have to put limits on my interactions.  Be the one to keep people at arm’s length without being cold or distant.  And you just get used to it.  You do it with everyone, because deep down you don’t know how else to be.”  

Then she looked at him, and moved her hand on the table until their fingertips were only an inch apart.  “But then you walked into my hotel room, and you . . .”

Her voice trailed off and she took a breath before she resumed speaking.  “You were the first person to see me as a . . . person.  Not as a genie, as someone who only existed to serve someone’s needs obediently and without complaint.  You--you were different.  There was something about you, Oliver.”  

Oliver wasn’t sure he had ever heard Felicity speak so much.  Yet that wasn’t what made him feel breathless, like he had just been given an incredibly gift.  

No, it was the honesty, the vulnerability, the openness of her words that had knocked him back in his seat.  Because he wasn’t sure if he had ever had such a conversation with another person.  If he had ever been as brave as Felicity had just been with him.  

It made him want to prove that she hadn’t made the wrong choice to trust him.  For this was about trust, and he knew that Felicity didn’t trust easily.  She had all but said that just now.  And he wasn’t about to let her down.  

How should he reply?  For some reason, something Felicity told him during their first meeting sprang into his head.  

“You told me once that if I didn’t know what to say, I just had to say ‘thank you’,” Oliver said, closing the gap between their hands and twining his fingers with hers.  “So . . . thank you, Felicity.”  

Her face went pink and she gave him a shy smile.  “You’re welcome, although I feel like I should be thanking you.”  

“There’s no need,” he said, squeezing her fingers and gazing into her eyes.  Feeling like he would be happy to sit here forever, just holding Felicity’s hand and looking at her.  

But of course, the universe had other ideas, in the form of their waiter appearing.  “Might I interest you in dessert, sir, ma’am?”  

Without looking away from Oliver, Felicity said, “One cannoli, two forks, please.”  

And Oliver smiled at her, maybe just as brightly as she smiled at him.  

XXX

“You didn’t really need to get me a cannoli to go, Oliver,” Felicity gently chided him as he drove them back to the Starling Grand.

“I disagree,” he said, glancing at her and smiling.  “You enjoyed your half of it so much, and I wanted you to have something to remember tonight.  Something to remind you of me.”  

Her hand reached out and stroked his shoulder lightly.  They had touched so little tonight, the contact made his body tingle and spark, in spite of all the ways they had touched each other in the past.  “I don’t need cannoli to think of you.” 

Oliver ducked his head and kept his eyes on the road, knowing he was smiling like a fool.  But he couldn’t help it.  Tonight had been amazing--the start of something special.  A new chapter for them.  And he knew--he just  _knew_ \--that Felicity was on the same page as he was.  

There was no way it would be smooth sailing, he also knew.  At some point, there would have to be a serious discussion about how they were going to go forward.  Because he wasn’t sure if he could live with Felicity continuing in her line of work--not without knowing more about why she had become a sex worker in the first place.  If nothing else, he would like to know her reasons.  But until then, he was going to do his best to not think about it.  To make sure he didn’t act like he could tell her what to do.  

Because he didn’t want to put Felicity in that position, even if the idea of her seeing another man tomorrow night and having sex with him made him want to keep driving, to take them both far, far away from Starling City.  

“Just so you know, I’m going to walk you to the door of your suite,” Oliver said, looking over at her.  “It’s an etiquette thing.”  

“All part of that billionaire package?” Felicity asked, her lips turning up in a smile.

“Yep,” he said, turning the corner to pull up to the front entrance of the Starling Grand.  Intending to let the valet park his car while he escorted Felicity to her room.  Hoping he would get a kiss at her door before driving himself home, the scent of Felicity’s perfume lingering in his car.

And then he saw the swarm of reporters at the front doors of the hotel.  As soon as they saw his car, the gaggle immediately dashed to the sidewalk, the camera flash bulbs going off and the video camera lights illuminating.  

“What the  _hell_?” he asked, looking at all the reporters before turning to look at Felicity.  

Her face was ashen, her eyes huge and full of fear.  Then, as if a switch had been flicked, she scrabbled for her purse, opening it up and pulling out her phone.  

“Felicity?” he asked, glancing back at the reporters--the bravest ones had started tapping on his car, calling out his name.  

“My programs--I didn’t get any alerts--” she said, sounding distracted.  

“We need to make a run for it,” Oliver said, turning off the car without caring that he was parked illegally.  

She grabbed his elbow.  “No--call John, get him to help us get inside.”  

“Good idea,” he said, pulling out his cell phone.  Felicity quickly recited her bodyguard’s number and Oliver punched it in.  

Mr. Diggle picked up on the first ring, but Oliver didn’t give him have a chance to say anything.  “This is Oliver Queen.  Felicity and I are in my car at the front entrance to the hotel, and we’re surrounded by reporters.”  

“What?”  Mr. Diggle sounded shocked and horrified.  But instead of waiting for Oliver’s answer, the man immediately sprang into action.  “I’ll be right down.”  

The reporters were starting to pound on the car and Oliver felt his anger start to eclipse his fear.  Because whatever was going on--Felicity was scared.  And that wasn’t right.  That wasn’t good.  And he was ready to tear each and every report to pieces for scaring Felicity.  

When Mr. Diggle appeared, he immediately went to the passenger door, moving through the crowd and making a hole thanks to his impressive physique.  As soon as he yanked open the door and took Felicity’s arm, Oliver opened his own door and stepped out.  He elbowed his way past the reporters, their shouted questions indistinguishable.  

Somehow, Oliver was able to meet Mr. Diggle and Felicity, wrapping one arm around Felicity’s shoulders and helping Mr. Diggle get them all into the hotel.  Two burly security guards stood just inside the front doors, preventing any reporters from entering the lobby, but Oliver couldn't care less.  He had to get Felicity to safety, had to get her to her room.

And maybe then they could find out what the hell had happened.  

End, Chapter 12


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance.

The ride in the elevator and the walk to Felicity’s suite was quiet.  Although not really.  It was more that each of them--Oliver, Felicity, and Mr. Diggle--were in their own heads, trying to figure out what was going on.  Felicity was focused on her phone, occasionally muttering softly to herself.  Mr. Diggle kept a hand on Felicity’s elbow, guiding her along and keeping his eyes moving on their trip to her suite.

And Oliver . . . he was just hoping that whatever was coming, he could keep Felicity safe.  That their fledgling relationship wouldn’t be totally crushed by whatever had the press going crazy.

As soon as they entered the suite, Felicity snatched up her tablet from the kitchen counter and vanished through a door, into the room Oliver vaguely remembered as the one where Mr. Diggle worked.  

“I . . . I guess she’s got computers in there?” Oliver asked Mr. Diggle, who nodded.

“A full setup.  There’s no way I can keep up with her when she talks tech, but she definitely is one of the best when it comes to computers,” Mr. Diggle confirmed.  “I’ve seen her in action--she’ll get to the bottom of this.”  

Oliver nodded and lifted his hand, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Do you have any idea why the reporters would be here?”

“None,” Mr. Diggle said.  “I didn’t even know they were outside the hotel until you called.  I’ve been here all night.”  

And with that, they had exhausted all they knew about what was going on.  With a sigh, Oliver walked over to the wall of windows, looking through the curtains and trying to get a glimpse of the street and the hotel’s entrance far below.  Searching for any signs that the press were still there.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he started pacing.  Oliver supposed he should leave, but he wanted to stay.  To make sure Felicity was okay.  To know what she discovered.  Looking over at Mr. Diggle, he cleared his throat.  “Do you know how long she might be in there?”  He pulled one hand out of his pocket and jerked his thumb in the direction of the room where Felicity was.  

Mr. Diggle, who had been standing still with his arms folded over his chest, shrugged slightly.  “She’ll be out when she knows something.”  

“Right.  Of course,” Oliver said, falling back into his pacing.  

There was silence for a few moments, and then Mr. Diggle said, in an entirely too casual tone of voice, “How was the date?”  

Oliver did a double-take and looked at Mr. Diggle.  “What?”

“How was the date?” he repeated, one eyebrow arching.  “Felicity was . . . looking forward to it.  A lot.”

“She was?” Oliver asked, a smile spreading on his face.  Imagining what it might have been like: Felicity asking Mr. Diggle for advice, trying on different dresses, taking her time getting ready . . .

Mr. Diggle huffed out a breath, in a way that almost sounded like a laugh.  “Yeah, she was excited.”  

In spite of the current situation, Oliver couldn’t help smiling.  “It--it was good.”  

And for the next forty-five minutes, even as he paced, Oliver found his smile staying on his face.  Because no matter what might be going on, no matter what Felicity found . . . they had gone on a good date.  A great date, he thought.  And that made him feel like he could face anything.

Still, he kept pacing, too keyed up to sit down.  Mr. Diggle stayed on his feet as well, looking every inch the bodyguard.  

The sound of a door opening made them both turn.  Oliver took a few steps towards Felicity as she came out of the room, running his eyes over her quickly.  Her hair looked rumpled, like she had been running her hands through it, and her shoes were off, automatically dropping four inches off her height and bringing out even more of his protective instincts.  

“I give up,” she said tiredly, her shoulders slumped.  “I hacked the servers of every newspaper and magazine published in Starling City and there was nothing about you, Oliver.  Nothing that would prompt this kind of reaction.  I checked national outlets, too, but there’s nothing there, either.”  

He reached out and rubbed her arms gently.  “Hey, it’s okay,” he told her.  “Whatever it is, I can deal with it.  It’s not the first time the press has tried to eat me alive, but I’m still here.”  

Felicity gave him a weak smile, but took a small step back from him, keeping some distance between them.  “I feel like I failed you.  I’ve never had this happen before and after tonight . . . it feels even worse.”  

“Hey,” he said, stepping towards her and sliding his hands up her arms to cup her face.  He gently tilted her head back so he could meet her eyes.  “You didn’t fail me.  You’ve never failed me, Felicity.”  

Her lips pressed together as her eyes shimmered.  She seemed like she was holding back tears, and it was only Mr. Diggle’s presence that kept Oliver from kissing her.  Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her.  “It’s going to be okay.”

With his arms around her, with her face pressed against his chest, Oliver meant every word he said.  Plus all the words he was leaving unspoken: his desire to protect her, his need for her, his inability to imagine his life without her in it.  He knew that they had only had one official date, he knew there was still so much he didn’t know about Felicity . . . but it didn’t matter as much as the certainty of what he did know.  

He loved her.  She was the one for him.  And he was hers, if she wanted him, too.  

For a few endless moments, Felicity let him hold her.  But then, after a deep breath, she pulled away from him.  “Okay.  I can start another round of searches, go even deeper, but I just wish I knew what I was looking for.”  

“It doesn’t look like they’ve cleared out,” Oliver commented.  “Maybe I should go down and see what they’re after by leaving, and then I could circle back here.”  

“I wouldn’t advise that, Mr. Queen.  It’s too dangerous for you,” Mr. Diggle interjected, his voice firm.  

“I don’t like it, either,” Felicity added, taking Oliver’s hand.  “Let me get back to work and--”

A quiet, firm knock against the door made Felicity stop mid-sentence.  She looked at the door, then her eyes flashed to meet Mr. Diggle’s.  Without a word being spoken, the bodyguard went to answer the door.

Wanting to do his part, Oliver tugged on Felicity’s hand, pulling her further away from the door--just in case some reporters had managed to sneak into the hotel and were trying to get a shot at him.  Because at this point, it was only a matter of how much cash a reporter was willing to offer before some hotel employee would crack, giving the reporter a reason why and where Oliver Queen might be in the hotel.  

“Yes?” Mr. Diggle said, his voice low:  too low for Oliver to hear anything more.  So he, along with Felicity, watched as Mr. Diggle accepted a large envelope and then shut the door.

“It’s from the front desk,” Mr. Diggle said, walking over and handing the envelope to Felicity.  “Most of the reporters have cleared off, but there’s a few that are being . . . persistent.”  

Felicity nodded in a distracted way as she looked at the envelope.  Oliver didn’t understand why she was hesitating, so he rested a hand on her back, feeling the warm skin revealed by her dress.  

Her eyes flicked up to meet his and he saw her take a deep breath.  Then, her eyes returned to the envelope before she ripped open the flap.  

Oliver frowned when she withdrew a piece of paper and a copy of the Starling City _Tattler_.  “That’s the biggest gossip rag in this city,” he commented, thanks to his first-hand knowledge with that publication.  Back in his douchebag days, he had been a mainstay of their glossy tabloid pages.  

Underneath his hand, Felicity had gone very still.  Only her eyes moved, as she read over the letter.  And then she shoved it to him as her hands flipped wildly through the newspaper.  

Snatching at the paper before it fell to the floor, Oliver glanced at Felicity, wondering what she was so frantically looking for, before his eyes dropped to the cover letter.  And as he read, his blood ran cold.

_Dear Ms. Smoak:_

_Please find enclosed a copy of tomorrow’s edition of the Starling City **Tattler**.  We believe the article on pages 14-15 is worthy of your attention._

_Sincerely,_

_Damian Darhk  
Editor in Chief, Starling City **Tattler**_

His brain full of confusion, Oliver narrowed his eyes as he tried to figure out what was going on.  Had the press been outside the hotel because of Felicity, not him?  What article was this letter talking about?  And was Smoak Felicity’s last name?

“Felicity?”  

Mr. Diggle’s voice was calm and soothing, yet also filled with worry.  Turning his head, Oliver saw Felicity staring at the newspaper, her hands clutching the pages tightly.  

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.  Her tongue flashed out, moistening her lips, and then, in a thready, shaking voice, Felicity read aloud, “All Tied Up: Inside the Lush Hotel Suite Where Starling City’s Own Dominatrix Works Her Sexual Magic.”  

“What?” Oliver snapped, grabbing the newspaper and scanning the pages.  Feeling his stomach turn as he saw that it wasn’t just an article.  Oh, no.  There were pictures, too.  A blurry shot of Felicity from the back, the only distinguishable feature her blonde hair.  Pictures of the bedroom he had shared with Felicity, of the bathroom.  Of the closet with her equipment and supplies.  Of the room where Mr. Diggle worked, with two large monitors and several computers.

But even worse, in a heart-breaking kind of way, was the picture of a small bedroom, a room that was the fraction of the size of the other rooms in the suite.  From the picture, there was only a bed, a small nightstand, and an equally small chest of drawers in the room.  But he knew it was Felicity’s actual bedroom.  The room she slept in when she was alone.

Because the duvet on the double bed was purple.  Just like she had told him on the night she had called him and performed phone sex with him.  

Mr. Diggle reached out and started lifting the newspaper from Oliver’s hands.  “I’ll go speak with the manager.  The paper must have paid off an employee to let them in when neither of us were here.”

“Wait,” Oliver said quickly, spotting one more photo.  In one corner of the page was the byline for the reporter and photographer, complete with their pictures.  And when he looked at the reporter’s photo, he remembered the small man in the porkpie hat.  He was the one who had asked him questions at that benefit he had attended with his mother and sister.  Questions about Helena.  

His stomach churning, Oliver shoved the newspaper to Mr. Diggle and ran his hands over his face, dimly hearing the door close behind Felicity’s bodyguard.  Oliver tried to collect his thoughts, tried to get himself under control.  But everything was still all tangled up, so he looked around for Felicity.  

She had taken a seat on the loveseat that coordinated with the black velvet couch, her knees together and her feet akimbo.  Her hands rested on either side of herself and her head was slightly bent.  Her hair fell in such a way that he couldn’t see her face.  But just her body language was enough to tell Oliver that things were very, very wrong.  

Because Felicity looked like a marionette whose strings had been cut.  And it was such a weak, vulnerable position that every single instinct inside him made him immediately go to her.  

“Felicity,” he said softly as he approached her.  Feeling his anxiety ratchet up when she gave no sign that she had heard him.

“Felicity,” he repeated, louder this time.  Other than the slightest intake of breath, she didn’t react, not even when he reached out and gently brushed her hair out of her face.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t already been worried.  But when he saw Felicity’s blank face and haunted eyes, Oliver realized just how serious this situation was.  It was like his brain finally caught up and let him think.  

She had been outed.  Perhaps not by name--it didn’t look like the paper had published that piece of info, although they clearly knew it in order to send her the advance copy.  But regardless, she was now on the radar of the _Tattler_ and its thousands of readers.  And clearly, the tabloid had tipped off the other members of the reporter community.  That was why they had been surrounding the hotel: trying to see if they could spot the mystery dominatrix.

Catching her with Oliver Queen must have made their mouths water from the juiciness of the scoop, he thought bitterly.  Although maybe the outcry was just for him--he didn’t know.  Even with this new information, there were still too many questions and not enough answers.

But right now, that didn’t matter.  Not when Felicity was sitting here, completely shut-down and silent.  

Taking a seat next to her on the loveseat, Oliver wrapped an arm around her.  Her body was more like marble than flesh, she was so tense and rigid.  He had always sensed that Felicity exercised great control over herself--that her advice came from first-hand experience.  And right now, he was seeing her cling to her control with everything she had.  

Lightly, he brushed his lips over her hair.  “I’m here, Felicity,” he said.  “I’m not going anywhere.  Because nothing’s changed.  None of this matters to me.”  

His quiet words sounded very loud in the utter stillness of the suite.  But then, Felicity mumbled something.  

“What was that?” he asked, leaning in close to her.  

“I said, I don’t understand how my programs didn’t catch anything,” she said dully.  “I . . . I’m good at this.  So how . . .?”  

With slow, steady motions, he stroked her arm.  Trying to soothe her, to reassure her.  “I don’t know, Felicity.  The _Tattler_ doesn’t have a website; it’s always been a bit of a throwback to the old days of journalism.”

She nodded dully.  “I never thought something like this would happen.  And not now.  I--I had a plan.  I was going to--”  

When she stopped talking, Oliver couldn’t help moving a bit closer to her.  “You were going to what?” he asked, trying to keep her talking, keep her engaged.  

“It doesn’t matter now.”  

Hearing the defeat in her voice, seeing her shoulders slump from her perceived failure . . . it hurt seeing that.  But it also sparked a fire inside him.  Oliver refused to live in a world where Felicity felt like a failure.  Not without trying everything he could to help her.  To make her feel better.

“It does matter,” he argued, reaching out to turn her face towards his.  “Felicity, you’re not alone.  You’ve got Mr. Diggle, and you’ve got me, and you’ve still got you.  You might have not seen this coming, but you can beat this.  You can fight and I know you’ll win.”  

She shook her head, leaning away from him.  “You barely had time to skim the article.  I read it all.  Every damn word, Oliver.  And it was . . . it was awful,” she said, her voice full of tears.  

“I know it was,” he said, feeling panicked.  If she started crying, he wasn’t sure he would be able to hold back his anger.  Because it was already difficult, not storming out of here to find that reporter and beat the shit out of him.  

“But--they didn’t identify you by name, right?” he asked, grasping at straws.  Looking for anything that might make this better.  “That photo could be anyone.  And you could sue them into the Stone Age for printing that trash without contacting you first, without giving you the chance to respond or to pay them off.  Which makes this a new low for the _Tattler_ \--they’ve tried this with my family dozens of times and we’ve always gotten them to back down.”  

“Of course you’ve gotten them to stop!” Felicity snapped at him.  “You’re Oliver Queen!  Your lawyers have lawyers!”  

He couldn’t help thinking that this was good.  That an angry Felicity was better than a beaten-down Felicity.  Yet he had never seen her get angry.  Never seen her stirred to such emotion.  And he wasn’t sure how to react to this Felicity.  

“Any lawyer would take your case in a heartbeat,” he argued.  

“You dropped out of four Ivy League schools--did you study law at any of them?” 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Felicity’s face crumpled.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, burying her face in her hands.  Her shoulders shook, and he wondered if she was crying.  

There was nothing he could do but wrap his arms around her.  Hold her tightly and show her that he wasn’t going anywhere.  Even though each silent shudder made his heart clench in his chest.  

“Shhh,” he whispered, kissing her hair.  “Shhh, Felicity.  It’s gonna be okay.”  

Suddenly, she turned within his hold, her arms wrapping around him as she pressed her face against his neck.  He could feel the dampness of her tears on his skin, and he kept stroking her back, kept whispering words of comfort to her.  After a few moments, he could tell she had stopped crying.  Could feel Felicity breathing in and out.  

Then she moved her hands from around his waist to his chest, pushing back from him.  

“Please--please leave, Oliver.”  

Blinking, Oliver stared at her.  “What?”  

Felicity shifted away from him, moving as far from him as she could while remaining on the loveseat.  “You said this doesn’t matter, but . . . but that’s not true.  I need to be alone so I can figure this all out.  Figure out what I’m going to do.”  

“Those were the wrong words--of course this matters, Felicity,” he said, feeling awkward and tongue-tied, when all he wanted was to comfort her and help her.  “But you don’t have to be alone--I can help.  I want to help.”

“I know,” she replied, putting on a weak smile.  “You’ve been so great, and knowing you want to help--I appreciate it, Oliver.  I really do.”  

He lightly rested his hand on her knee.  Needing to keep some kind of physical connection with her, even as he could feel her putting up walls.  

“So let me stay,” he asked softly.  “Once Mr. Diggle comes back, we can all talk about what you can do now.”  He did his best to give her an encouraging smile.  “If two heads are better than one, three heads can definitely work this out.”  

“It’s sweet of you to want to help, but Oliver, you need to leave.”  Felicity patted the hand that was covering her knee.  “You don’t want to get caught up in all this.”  

It was so much the kind of thing his mother would say, Oliver instinctively felt the need to argue with Felicity.  Because yes, it was true that his name could be linked to a dominatrix.  And that would create publicity for him and for Queen Consolidated--publicity that would be considered as “bad press.”  But as Felicity said, he had plenty of resources to protect himself.  What did Felicity have?  The fees she charged were high, but how quickly would legal bills wipe out everything she had?  And other than Mr. Diggle, who had her back?  Who could give her support and advice?  

He had spent most of his life being a screw-up.  So if there was anyone who knew how to deal with circling reporters, it was him.  And he wanted to help Felicity, wanted to share the tricks he had picked up over the years.  

“I just want to make sure you’ll be okay,” he told her, rubbing her knee.  Refusing to back down.  “I can help, Felicity--I know how to handle the press.”  

“But I don’t want you involved in this,” she said, her voice firm.  She lifted her chin, her face pale but drawn and determined.  “This is my problem, Oliver.  You’re barely connected with me right now--and that’s how I want to keep it.”  

It was all he could do not to wince.  Because Felicity’s words had cut him to the core.  She sounded so distant.  So . . . emotionless.  

Once again, she sounded like his mother.  And he had never thought his mother and Felicity had anything in common, so it sent him reeling.  

“I don’t understand,” he said, feeling dismayed at just how hurt his voice sounded.  “You don’t want my help?”  

Her eyes fluttered and just like that, her mask dropped, revealing the real Felicity.  At least, who he thought the real Felicity was: the woman with a soft smile and warm eyes.  

“Of course I want your help,” Felicity replied, edging a bit closer to him.  “But it’s not wise, Oliver.  It raises too many questions.  For now, everyone probably thinks you were out on a date with me--they may not have connected you with who I am, but if the truth got out . . . it’s better if it doesn’t, that’s all I’m saying, and I don’t want it to get out.  I don’t want to suck you into this.”  

She paused for a moment and took his hand, interlacing their fingers.  “It’s late.  You should go home.”  

With a sigh, Oliver rubbed his free hand over his face.  He didn’t like this.  He _really_ didn’t like this.  He wanted to argue with her, make her see his point.  Hell, at this point, he wanted to already have his lawyers working on this.  And he could do it.  He could walk out the door and call them.  Refuse to let Felicity face this alone.

But if he did that, he knew she would never forgive him.  She would never trust him again.  Which meant she would face this alone, because she wouldn’t have anything to do with him after he imposed his will on her like that.  

“I don’t like this,” he said, unable to hold back his thoughts.  “I don’t like feeling like I’m leaving you all alone in this.”  

Her fingers tightened around his for a moment.  “I know.  But I’m not alone--I’ve got John.  And this way, I can be focused on just me, instead of worrying about you, too.”  

“You’d worry about me?” he asked in surprise, looking at her.  He searched her eyes, trying to sense what she was feeling, what she was thinking.  

“Of course I would, Oliver,” she said simply, like it was obvious.  But it wasn’t--not to him.  And . . . and it was really good to hear.  To know that Felicity was looking out from him in this way.  Not that she hadn’t always done so, but--it felt different now.  Now that they weren’t sex worker and client, but . . . but two people who were on the verge of starting a romantic relationship.  

Blowing out a breath, he squeezed her hand and stood up, keeping his fingers loosely wrapped around hers.  “Okay.  But I’m calling you tomorrow, first thing, as soon as I see the press coverage.  And if they’re hounding you, we’re going to talk about that.”  

“I can handle this, Oliver.”  

God, the determination that rang in her voice, the competence and confidence in every line of her body, the smallest hint of annoyance with his hovering . . . it made him fall in love with her all over again.  Because he believed her.  He knew she could do this, that she didn’t really need his help.  But hopefully, she might see that although she didn’t need him and his help, she wanted him.  She could lean on him.  She had helped him become a man who could be her strength.

Meeting her eyes, Oliver tried to put every bit of his feelings into his voice.  “I know you can.  But you don’t have to do this alone, Felicity.”

Lowering his head, he lightly brushed his lips over her cheek and then let go of her hand.  “I’ll call you,” he reminded her quietly before turning towards the door of the suite.  

His hand had just wrapped around the doorknob when Felicity called out his name.  Oliver turned around, his eyes widening when he realized she was standing right behind him.  And as soon as he was facing her, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him down into a kiss.  

It was sudden and completely unexpected.  It made him remember how he had hoped to get a good night kiss.  But not one like this.  Because Felicity was kissing him with a desperation he had never experienced from her.  

Yet almost as soon as he grasped how the kiss felt, it changed.  Felicity’s lips softened against his and her hands slowly let go of his jacket.  Her fingertips inched their way up until she had wrapped her arms around his neck.  

And maybe it was all the emotions from tonight--his nerves over their date, his desire to show her how he felt, the stress and worry about the photographers--but this kiss felt unlike any they had ever shared.  It felt . . . sweet.  Hopeful.  Like how a first kiss should feel.  

Like he was kissing Felicity, the real Felicity, for the first time.  And if he thought he had been addicted to Felicity’s kisses before, he had possessed no idea of what it would be like to really kiss her.  

Her lips lingered on his, the kiss coming to a slow, eventual end.  Yet she didn’t move away from him immediately.  Oliver almost thought she was breathing him in.  Memorizing this moment, just like he was.  

But everything came to an end, when her arms dropped away and she stepped back.  

Opening his eyes slowly, Oliver looked at her.  Took in the way her face looked relaxed and peaceful, how her eyes were half-closed, how her lipstick was slightly smudged.

She was so beautiful.  She was everything he wanted.  And even though they had only been on one date, he didn’t think he could hold back the words any longer.  

“Felicity, I know--”  

“Shh,” she said, putting a finger against his lips.  “I know, too.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”  

Oliver wanted to tell her that she was wrong--that she didn’t know he loved her.  But he sensed she was itching to get back to her computers, to begin attacking this problem now that she knew more.  And he didn’t want to keep her from that. 

So even though he felt another pang of guilt and worry, he nodded.  “Okay,” he said, stepping back from her and opening the door.  “Try to get some sleep.  I won’t call too early.”  

“Of course not--you’re the Sleeping Beauty around here,” Felicity teased.  

The joke made him smile brightly at her.  Feeling a flash of hope that she would be okay.  That _they_ would be okay.  Her eyes dropped from his for a moment, before she returned her gaze to his and gave him a gentle push into the hallway.

The last thing he saw, when he glanced back over his shoulder halfway to the elevator, was Felicity standing in the doorway, watching him go.  When his eyes met hers, she gave him a small smile before closing the door of her suite.  

Turning back around, Oliver kept his feet moving towards the elevator.  But his mind was already going over what he could do to help Felicity.  

XXX

By the time he was pulling into the garage at Queen Manor, it was well past midnight.  Fortunately, his car hadn’t been towed after he left it parked at the curb in front of the Starling Grand:  just covered with parking tickets.  He had yanked them off the windshield and tossed them onto the passenger seat, where they landed on top of the plastic carton with Felicity’s forgotten cannoli.  

And the sight of her dessert, the mascarpone filling having oozed out of the pastry shell, rendering the cannoli thoroughly unappetizing in appearance, had sent a chord through him.  It had made him wish they could go back, to when he had been driving her back to the hotel.  Back before everything had changed.  

Wishing wouldn’t change anything, though, Oliver knew.  All he could do now was focus on how he could help Felicity.  Help her without going against her wishes.  

Calling his lawyers had already been ruled out.  Anything he could find out online, Felicity would be a million miles ahead of him.  

But there was one place he could get started: the actual article.  So on his way home, Oliver stopped at a newsstand and bought every copy of the Saturday edition of the _Tattler_.  It was money well-spent, he thought darkly as he had driven to Queen Manor.  

Once he got home and was in his study, he dropped all but one of the copies on his study’s fireplace and started a good blaze.  The pleasure he got, watching the papers burn, was short-lived, since he knew that in a few hours, thousands of people would be reading the article.  That made him pick up the remaining copy of the _Tattler_.  He spread out on his desk and started to read, studying every word in the article.  

This sort of research had never been his strong suit; he had barely gotten through SCU after failing out of four other schools.  But for Felicity, he was prepared to read every word, as many times as it took, if it would help give Felicity a legal case or offer an idea of how this had even happened.

It took extra time, too, because his stomach kept turning over at the article’s tone, at the insinuations and insults levied against the “mystery dominatrix.”  The reporter--a little weasel called Lonnie Machin--had pulled out all the stops, going above and beyond the _Tattler_ ’s normal innuendos to baldly state the kind of activities Felicity had performed in her role as a sex worker.  

With that kind of blatant disdain, Oliver didn’t understand why they hadn’t revealed Felicity’s name.  There wasn’t a single piece of information that pointed to her name--not even a pun on the meaning of Felicity.  And since that kind of joke was right up the Tattler’s alley, it made Oliver worried.  

Which at least distracted him briefly from wondering just who the hell had tipped off the tabloid in the first place.

Because that was the real question: how had the _Tattler_ found out about Felicity’s existence in the first place?  Was it a disgruntled client--or the wife of a client?  Was it someone from Felicity’s past?  Or was it as simple as a hotel employee putting the pieces together and looking to make some quick money by selling out a guest?  

Logically, Oliver knew he should consider Mr. Diggle as a suspect, but as soon as the thought had occurred to him, he had discounted it.  He might not know Felicity’s bodyguard well, but the man’s loyalty was unimpeachable.  At least, that was how Oliver felt.  Besides, the man had been working for Felicity for several years; why wait so long to blow the whistle on her?  Especially since he had been nothing but concerned about Felicity when they found out about the article.

No, it had to be someone else.  But Oliver didn’t know who it could be.  And as morning approached, the heat of the fire and the fading adrenaline combined into an exhaustion so potent that he didn’t even realize how tired he was until he fell asleep.  

“Ollie?”  

“Wha-huh?” he muttered, sitting up and wincing.  Falling asleep at his desk was something he had never done before, even in his most workaholic periods, and now he was glad for that--he felt stiff all over.  

Thea’s forehead was wrinkled.  “Did you sleep in here last night?”  

“Hmm?” he asked, blinking and finally noticing the _Tattler_ that was still spread open on the top of his desk, a notepad filled with his thoughts resting beside it.  In what he hoped was a casual manner, Oliver closed the tabloid and pushed it and his notes aside.  “What are you doing in here, Thea?”  

“It’s Saturday.  We were gonna have brunch before you did the whole ‘me man, you girl can’t drive car like me’ thing?”  Thea paused and rolled her eyes.  “Don’t tell me, you forgot.”  

Trying to hide his grimace, Oliver met his sister’s eyes.  “Kinda?  But only because something happened last night and . . . well, I ended up sleeping in here.”  

“What happened?”  Thea’s eyes lit up.  “Does it involve the mysterious Felicity?” 

For a long moment, Oliver eyed his sister.  Should he tell her?  After all, he was serious about Felicity.  At some point, he wanted her to meet his family.  And when that happened, he wanted his mother and sister to know enough about Felicity’s past to prevent unnecessary awkwardness.  Yet what Felicity did wasn’t his secret to tell.  

“It does,” he said finally.  “Felicity . . . she’s in a bad situation, and I’m trying to help her.  She wants to figure it out on her own, though, and I just want her to let me help her, but . . .”  He let his voice trail off, feeling like he had already said too much.  

Thea nodded.  “She’s trying to be strong and stand on her own two feet.  I get that.”  

“You do?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his hair.  

“Sure,” she said, crossing her arms at her waist.  “No woman wants to be a damsel in distress.”  

Snorting, Oliver stood up and stretched a little.  “Trust me, Felicity is no damsel in distress.  If anyone is, it’s me.”  

“Well, you are so pretty, Ollie,” Thea teased him, scampering away from him as he reached out to lightly and affectionately cuff her shoulder.  “Go shower and I’ll meet you downstairs.”  

“Yeah--hey, wait, Speedy, have today’s papers been delivered?”

“I guess?” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders.  

Tugging his shirttails free of his pants, he headed towards the connecting door to his bedroom, on his way to his bathroom.  “Could you have them sent up to me?”  

“Ollie, c’mon--” Thea began to protest, but one look from him made her sigh and nod.  “Okay, I’ll do that.  But shower first, okay?  You’re pretty ripe.”  

Since he happened to agree with Thea, Oliver went ahead and got in the shower.  The hot water helped clear the last of the cobwebs from his mind, so he started planning.  He didn’t want to cancel his plans with Thea, but before they left, he was going to look at the papers and call Felicity, to make sure she was okay.  

After he ate with Thea and took her car for a drive, he could go back to the Starling Grand and talk to Felicity.  Hopefully make some plans for how they were going to fight the _Tattler_ and figure out who had thrown her to the wolves.  

With everything settled in his mind, he finished his shower and got dressed in jeans and a henley.  His hair was still damp but he didn’t worry about it as he pulled open the door to his room, stumbling and nearly falling backwards in order to not run over his sister.  

“Speedy?” he asked once he had regained his balance.

“Is this Felicity?” Thea shrieked, shaking the Starling City _Examiner_ at him.  

“I can’t tell with how you’re waving the paper about,” Oliver said, trying to grab it from Thea’s hand.  

She rolled her eyes and used both hands to steady the paper enough for him to take it in.  And there, on the gossip page, was a photo of Felicity’s back and Oliver in profile, at the doorway of the Starling Grand, with John Diggle on Felicity’s other side.

Taking a breath, Oliver looked at Thea.  “Yeah, that’s Felicity.”  

“She’s a knockout!” Thea said enthusiastically.  “And real, which is something I was worried about.”  

“Speedy,” he warned.  

“I’m joking!  Well, kinda,” Thea said, taking the paper and giving the photo another look.  “The two of you are all over every paper.  Everyone’s going crazy about it: Ollie Queen’s new flame.”  

Well, that was a bit of a blessing.  If the legitimate papers were only covering his date with Felicity, and hadn’t connected him with the mystery dominatrix, that gave them some extra time.  Maybe this was a sign of Felicity’s luck changing.  

“Look, Thea, I have to make a quick phone call before we go--can you give me a minute?” Oliver asked, bracing himself for the hard time that she was bound to give him.

And as he expected, Thea didn’t disappoint.  

“A morning booty call.  Daring.  But I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way,” she said, her smile bright and her eyes sparkling.

“You shouldn’t know anything about booty calls,” Oliver replied, his grumpiness only partially feigned.  

“Sorry, big brother,” Thea said airily before leaning up to kiss his cheek.  “I expect you in the foyer in ten minutes so we can get brunch.  I’m starving.”  

Nodding, he waited for Thea to bound down the hall, still holding the newspaper, before he stepped back into his room and grabbed his phone.  He hit the contact for Felicity’s number and lifted the phone to his ear, waiting for her to pick up.  

The phone rang and rang, and Oliver checked his watch, frowning a little.  It was nearly nine--could she still be asleep?  

And then there was a click and an automated message began playing.  “The cellular number you are trying to reach is not in service.”

What?

Oliver hung up and tried it again, only to get the same message.  His frown deepened even as a coldness began working its way through his whole body, and he dialed the number for the Starling Grand.

“Good morning and thank you for calling the Starling Grand.  How may I assist you?”  

“Yes, I’d like to be connected with suite 812,” Oliver said, knowing he sounded brusque but not caring.

There was the sound of keys tapping, and then the clerk spoke.  “I’m sorry, sir, but there is no guest staying in suite 812 at this time.”  

“No--that’s not right,” Oliver countered, his voice rising.  “I was with that guest just last night.  She had no plans to check out.”  

“I’m sorry, sir,” the clerk said, her voice holding a touch of frost.  “There is no guest staying in suite 812.”  

Running a hand over his hair and letting it rest on the back of his neck, Oliver paced for a few steps.  “Just--just connect me anyway?”  

“Sir--”

“Do it!” he barked, knowing he was losing control.  Knowing that it wasn’t the clerk’s fault Felicity was gone.  

Oh, God.  Felicity was gone.  

He was only dimly aware of the clerk’s sigh and then the long, unending ring of the telephone.  A telephone that was ringing in an empty suite.  Because there was no one to answer it.  

Because Felicity was gone.  She had left Starling.  She had disappeared without giving him any way of reaching her, of finding her.  

And he didn’t know what he was going to do without her.

End, Chapter 13


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of things happen in this chapter, so buckle up for the ride! Thank you to callistawolf and fanmommer for their encouragement.

When you grew up as a member of a wealthy family as Oliver Queen had, you learned that there was rarely anything you couldn’t get.  It was just a matter of how much money you were willing to spend.  And when you had more money than could ever be spent, you didn’t often reach a point where you said, “That’s too much.”  

Yet even if he hadn’t been heir to billions, Oliver knew that he would never reach that point until he found Felicity.  Until he knew she was okay.  

Somehow, he had managed to get through brunch with Thea.  His sister had known something was wrong, but to his mild surprise, she hadn’t teased him and or attempted to coax answers from him.  She had asked him what was bothering him, and when he had clammed up, she just gave him a long look and squeezed his hand.  

“I’m here if you need me, Ollie.”  

And the kindness of her words, the peace of not having to explain just yet when he was trying so hard to hold himself together, had made Oliver feel even more emotional.  

“I always need you, Speedy,” he had told her, returning her squeeze.  

With a smile, Thea had let the matter drop and had changed the subject.  And she had even given him a rain check on the driving lesson--although she hadn’t seemed too upset about missing out on that, Oliver had noticed.  

But honestly, it would have been more likely that he would have given her a lesson in what not to do behind a wheel of a car.  Namely: be distracted enough to wrap the car around a tree.  

Because that was what he was.  His thoughts were scattered in a hundred different directions.  What should he do?  Every fiber of his being told him he should do anything, everything to find Felicity.  To track her down, to make her see that she couldn’t just leave him without a word.  To find out what had her so scared that she would leave like she had.  

Oliver actually had his phone in his hand, ready to call his lawyers for the name of a private detective agency, when he had paused.  Should he do this?  Should he look for Felicity?

Why the question had popped into his head, he wasn’t sure.  But it had knocked the breath out of him, made him sit down heavily in a chair in his study, as he tried to figure out what was going on.  

Felicity had left.  And she hadn’t told him she was leaving.  She had to have reasons for doing so, right?  She had told him how worried she was, that she didn’t want him to get drawn into this.  Which he supposed made sense, for someone in her line of work.  Getting a client caught up in a sex scandal . . . it would doom you as much as the client.

And that thought made him feel breathless again.  Because . . . if she was still worried about her reputation as a dominatrix, that must mean that she--that she was planning to keep working as a dom.  That she wasn’t ready or able to leave that life.  

Yet again, the essential mystery of Felicity hit home.  Why would a woman with a master’s degree in computer science, an obviously talented and intelligent woman, choose to work in a sex trade?  Why couldn’t she get a job in computers?  

This wasn’t the first time he had asked himself this question.  But now . . . now, he might be able to answer it.  Because now he knew more about her.  Her last name, her actual degree title, even an idea of what might have happened.  Her story on their date, about trusting the wrong person--about trusting her boyfriend--could definitely be part of her reason for not working in her chosen field.  

Was it enough for an investigator to find out more?  Possibly.  If he was willing to spend a lot of money to facilitate a background check when he had so little information.  

Fortunately, spending his money was an easy decision.  But it still didn’t help him decide if he should actually try to find Felicity, or simply work to uncover her past.  Both seemed like a betrayal of Felicity, a violation of all the unspoken rules that had governed their relationship:  to not ask for details about her past, to accept the boundaries she had erected between them.  

With a sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face.  The problem was, he had already broken the biggest unspoken rule of all.  He had fallen in love with Felicity.  Their date had only confirmed how much he loved her--and then that love had been tested all over again by the press, by their conversation last night.  

Which reminded him--how the fuck had the  _Tattler_  found out about Felicity?  Why had they published such a dishy, gossipy article and not revealed her identity?  

Finding that out, tracking down whoever had sold Felicity out--that he was going to do without worrying so much about whether it would upset her.  So Oliver took his phone and called his lawyer.  

Learn who had betrayed Felicity and figure out why she couldn’t work with computers: those were his first goals.  Knowing more about Felicity's background could possibly give him ideas about how to find her.

When it came to that article, he wanted to rain down fire on the person who had hurt Felicity like that.  Discover what their motives were and then make them sorry they had ever known anything about her.  

And if Felicity didn’t like that, if they ever spoke again?  Oliver was willing to deal with the consequences.  But no one got to hurt Felicity.  

No one.

XXX

Moira Queen had a saying: “Money causes more problems than it ever fixes.”  The irony of his mother’s belief, when she had been born to a father who had made millions and then married into a family of billionaires, was not lost on Oliver.  In his experience, being rich might give him headaches like questions of duty and responsibility--but it also let him have power and control and anything else he wanted.  

Or at least, it used to.  But for some reason, his money had failed him this time.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Queen, but while we can find information on the first eighteen years of Ms. Smoak’s life, after that point she becomes a ghost.  There’s nothing in the system on her,” the private detective claimed.  

Oliver paced in the man’s office, pausing to glance out at the view of Starling City before he turned back.  “Mark, I just don’t buy it.  I mean--she’s got to have a Social Security number.  She must have credit cards or bank accounts.  She has to pay taxes, at least.  But you’re telling me that for the last five years of her life, there’s nothing?”  

“That’s what I’m saying,” Mark replied, leaning back in his chair.  “It’s like she doesn’t exist--until she came to Starling and this article happened.”  

Running a hand over his hair, Oliver dropped into the chair across from Mark.  “Have you found out more about how this article happened?”  

“I have,” the investigator said, a note of caution in his voice.  “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”  

Without saying anything else, Mark held a folder out to Oliver.  Taking it eagerly, he flipped it open and read over the summary of the report.  And then he read it over a second time as his jaw tightened.  

“This all checks out?” he asked, making eye contact with Mark.  

The other man nodded.  “I have cell records, eyewitness statements . . . it’s enough to hold up in court, if that’s the route you want to take.”  

“No . . . no, that’s not what I’m after,” Oliver said slowly.  He closed the folder and held it up.  “This is mine, I take it?”  

“Yeah.  What about the other case?”  

Standing up, Oliver tucked the folder under his arm and buttoned his suit jacket.  “Keep looking.  There has to be something.”  He paused and leveled Mark with a look.  “And don’t let the law stop you.”  

“Mr. Queen--”

“I can’t be the only client to tell you that,” Oliver said firmly.  “You don’t have to ask me if I’m sure about this.  I am.  If anything happens to you, I’ll handle your legal fees, bail, whatever.  But I need--”  

His voice cracked, revealing his shaking control.  Because if Mark couldn’t find out why Felicity couldn’t get out of the dominatrix life, if he couldn’t uncover anything about her last five years . . . she might be gone forever.  

Swallowing, Oliver looked back at Mark.  “I need to know.”  

“Very well, Mr. Queen,” Mark answered, sounding unruffled.  “I’ll try a few other options and let you know what I find.”  

“Good,” he said, turning and walking out of the office.  

It had been over a week since Felicity had disappeared.  And he felt like he was no closer in finding her.  If Mark couldn’t provide more information about Felicity’s recent past, he would have to ask him to actually attempt to locate her.  His reservations about actively seeking her out hadn’t changed; if anything, they had gotten stronger.

He knew she had left to keep him safe.  And to keep herself safe.  If he interfered with that, he wasn’t sure whether Felicity would forgive him.  If she would understand that it didn’t matter if he was safe when she wasn’t.  

Looking down at the folder, Oliver took a breath.  At least he could deal with how Felicity had been put into danger.

And that was what he was going to do tonight.  It meant he had to go to the office, because he would need to prepare a few departments for what he was about to do.  And make a few phone calls, including one to the  _Tattler_.  But once he was done with those tasks, he was going to see the woman responsible for driving away the woman he loved.

XXX

When she opened the door of her apartment, there was a momentary flash of confusion on her face.  But almost immediately, Helena smoothed her face into a blank, polite expression.  

“Oliver.  If you came for any of your things . . . well, even if you had ever left anything here, it would be too late.  I would have burned them by now.”  

“Are you sure that’s something you want to admit to, Helena?” he asked,  arching an eyebrow.

She let out a false-sounding laugh.  “Just a little joke, Oliver.  You used to like my jokes.”  

That was not true.  Helena had never made him laugh.  Not like his sister or Tommy did.  Not like Felicity did.  

Ignoring her response, he looked right into her eyes.  “I’d like to talk with you, Helena.  Can I come in?”

Giving him a small shrug, she stepped back and swept her arm out to the side.  “Come in.  I love having my exes just drop by.”  

As he would have expected, she was already pissed at him.  He didn’t care, though.  Because no matter how angry Helena was at him, he was angrier.  

Because Helena was the one who had gone to the  _Tattler_.

“Thank you,” he lied as he stepped into her apartment.  “This won’t take long.” 

“I bet,” she said, a catty note to her voice.  One that made him suspect she was offering some kind of commentary on his lovemaking abilities.  

Which was untrue . . . but also eye-opening.  How had Helena hidden this side of herself so well?  The vindictive, twisted morals--the judgemental attitude--the desire for revenge?  

Because if he had realized the kind of woman he had been dating, he would have broken up with her long before he met Felicity.  Long before Helena had set her sights on hurting Felicity.

“You’re angry with me,” Oliver said, his back to Helena.  “Because I hurt you.”  

Scoffing, Helena walked over to face him.  “You hardly hurt me.”

“No?” Oliver asked.  “You’re just angry?”

“Did you forget the expensive Italian food I wasted by throwing it at you?”  Helena paused, cocking her head to one side.  “Well, maybe that wasn’t a waste.  I just wish I had hit you.”

“So you’re angry,” Oliver reiterated.  “How angry?”  

Helena’s face was classically pretty.  Even beautiful, he supposed.  But now he looked at her and only saw a mask.  One that she had used to hide her true nature.  

He wasn’t going to let her hide any longer.  

“You get one minute to tell me why you’re here before I have you thrown out,” Helena said tightly.  “That’s how angry I am.”  

“Who’s going to throw me out?” Oliver asked, playing with the folder in his hand.  “I don’t think Lonnie Machin is up to the task.”  

Maybe he was imagining it, or maybe he just knew what to look for now, but Helena’s face paled slightly.  “Who?”  

“You don’t remember your old friend Lonnie?  The guy you’ve been feeding ‘exclusives’ to for six months?” Oliver asked, walking to sit down on the couch.  He set the folder on the table and opened it, withdrawing the report that Mark had provided to him.    

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Oliver,” Helena said, folding her arms over her chest even as her eyes stay glued to the papers in his hand.  Her body language wasn’t the only defensive thing about her: she was clearly trying to sound defiant and angry, but he could hear the cracks in her voice.

Oliver knew he was the one in control here, so he waited an extra moment before replying.  Wanting her to stew a little.  “According to my information, you started giving Lonnie little tidbits after we had been dating for a year.  Where we were going, what we did together.  Never enough to attract that much attention.”  

“Whatever you have is nothing but a tissue of lies,” Helena snapped.  

“It’s proof, Helena,” Oliver said curtly.  “You were trying to sell an image to the papers.  That you were going to become Helena Queen.  And then I broke up with you, and it all fell apart.”  

Pausing, he tilted his head to the side.  “You were getting nice little payouts from the  _Tattler_.  But giving up Felicity--that was the big score.  A hundred thousand guaranteed and up to a quarter of a million depending on what happened next.”  He paused.  “How did you find out about her?”  

“Your piece of ass?” she asked bitterly.  “You’re so stupid.  When do you think?  It was the dinner party at the Bowens’.  I wasn’t feeling well, so I went to tell you I wanted to leave.  And I heard you talking to your whore--”  

“Don’t call her that.”  Oliver’s voice was quiet and low.  He was surprised at how steady he sounded, given the spike of anger he had felt at Helena’s insult towards Felicity.    

She waved her hand in the air, brushing aside his warning.  “And then you were talking to Tommy.  And I knew it was just a matter of time before you would break up with me.  Because you’re weak.  So I started asking around, and when I had enough, I turned it over to Lonnie and he did the rest.”  

“And when Lonnie had enough to print, you got paid.  A good supplement to the allowance your dad gave you, right?”  Then Oliver mimed an apologetic look.  “Oh, sorry--were getting.  Because he cut you off, didn’t he?  Since you hadn’t gotten me to pop the question.”  

Helena’s mouth opened and closed as she spluttered.  “You--you have nothing!  My father would never, he would  _never_  do that to me!”  Her cheeks were flushed, while the rest of her face was as white as snow.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Helena?” he asked her, looking at her and feeling a strange sort of sympathy.  He was still mad as hell at her, but . . . but once upon a time, he had cared about her.  And she had to know he would have helped her.  Would have given her a loan, helped her get an education, whatever she wanted in order to stand on her own two feet.  

“Because you were supposed to marry me so I wouldn’t need my father’s money!” she spit out, her hands balling into fists at her sides.  “He didn’t cut me off--he only paid enough for me to keep up appearances.  But appearances cost a hell of a lot more than he realized.  I needed more and he wouldn’t give it to me.”   

He nodded.  Disinheritance was a common threat in most wealthy families, even though all parties knew that there was no way a wayward child would be completely cut off.  The publicity would be too negative to be worth it, no matter how badly the heir had acted.  So other methods had to be used.  Like a reduction in allowance . . . or an ultimatum.  

So while Oliver could understand how difficult the choice was that Helena had faced, he could not support her choice.  Not with what had happened.  

“I wish you had told me,” he said quietly, looking at her.  “I would have helped you.  Even if we weren’t dating, I would have helped you.”  

“Then help me now,” Helena said, moving to kneel beside him.  Oliver shifted away from her, moving along the sofa and taking the papers with him in order to put some space between himself and Helena.  “Help me, please, Oliver,” she asked, her voice just short of begging.  

“I won’t,” he said, looking at her.  “I could.  I could write you a check right now.  But I don’t want to do that.  Not after what you did to Felicity.”  

She sprang to her feet, glaring at him.  “I suppose it’s time to talk about your little dominatrix,” she said, her voice snapping with rage.  “You cheated on me.  You made me a laughingstock.”  

“I did cheat on you,” Oliver admitted.  “It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry for that, Helena.”  

“Keep your apology and stick it up your ass,” Helena hissed.  “I don’t think you’ll be cheating on anyone else from now on.  That is, if you can even find one woman who wants you, after your sick sexual habits are on the front page of the next issue of the  _Tattler_.”  

Her words made him want to recoil.  Made him want to just give her the money and make her shut up.  But money alone wasn’t enough to keep Helena silent, not anymore.  No . . . she needed to be scared.  Scared enough that she would be willing to take the offer he was going to make her.

It took everything he had, but he leaned back against the couch.  Trying to appear supremely confident.  

“There will be nothing about me, my family, or my friends in the next issue of the  _Tattler_ ,” Oliver informed her.  “I spoke to the editor in chief, Damian Darhk, earlier today.  We’ve come to an agreement, after I told him about the information I had and explained how easily my lawyers could discredit everything you’ve told them.  Which would open them up to several libel suits.” 

Helena was practically vibrating with rage now, clearly unable to speak.  So Oliver went on.

“Your father is going to return your access to your trust fund,” he told her.  “He’s guaranteed you won’t be denied any of your money from here on out.”  

“And how did you get him to promise that?” she snorted.  

“By telling him that if he didn’t, Queen Consolidated would be canceling every contract we have with Bertinelli Industries,” Oliver replied smoothly.  

The anger drained from Helena’s face.  “What?”  

“If he withholds one penny, he’s done,” Oliver said bluntly.  “Since we’re his biggest customer, Frank isn’t about to take that risk.  And in return, you will leave Starling City.”  

She blinked.  “What?” she repeated.

“That was my condition--and my check on you both,” Oliver explained.  “You leave town and your father keeps his contracts and you get your money.  If you return for longer than a week, or if Frank holds back any of your money, his contracts are cancelled and I release the information I have on you.  If you try to break any part of this agreement, people might not care so much about you selling me out, but instead of trying to come back to Starling City, I hope you’ll find something or someone that makes you happy, in a place far away from your father.”

It was a generous offer.  One that he wasn’t sure why he felt so willing to extend to her.  Perhaps he was being a sap.  Or letting his guilt for cheating on her make him go easier on her than she deserved.  But he knew Helena was a victim of her father, of the rules of Starling City society.  

But she had told the  _Tattler_  about Felicity.  She had used Felicity to get her revenge on him.  And he couldn’t ever forgive her for that.  He just wanted Helena far away from him, far away from his city.  And far away from Felicity.

Helena had dropped into one of the uncomfortable-looking wing chairs that flanked her sofa.  Her eyes were wide and glassy and her hands were clasped together tightly.  “Oliver . . .”  

Oliver slowly closed the folder and pushed it across the table to her.  “This has the report the private detective prepared for me.  It also has the signed promise from your father, to give you access to your trust fund.  So you know how serious I am.”

“Why are doing this?” she asked weakly.  

Standing up, he adjusted his suit jacket.  “Because I can’t trust you anymore.  But also because everyone deserves to have more of a choice than I did.”  

She stared up at him and Oliver gave her a small nod.  “Good-bye, Helena.  And good luck.”  

And without waiting for any answer from her, he turned and left her apartment. 

Once he was out in the hallway and a few steps away from her door, though, Oliver had to stop and take a few deep breaths.  When he had walked into her apartment, he had been angry at Helena.  Furious, in fact.  He had blamed her for what had happened with Felicity.  But as he laid out her crimes . . . the anger had drained away, leaving nothing but pity.  

Pity and confusion.  Because . . . what should he do now?  With Helena no longer a threat, what else could he do?  The private detective still didn’t know anything about Felicity’s recent history, he still had no way of contacting Felicity--there was nothing for Oliver to do now.  

Nothing except wait and think about how much he missed Felicity.  

Blowing out a breath, he ran his hands over his face and then walked towards the elevator.  There were plenty of other areas in his life that could use some work.  He hadn’t seen Tommy in weeks, he had been cutting corners with Thea, and there was the little matter of not telling his mother how her lack of help had cut him to the core.  

Perhaps it was time to finally deal with that.  Because it would give him something to tell Felicity if he ever saw her again.

XXX

When his best friend opened the door of his apartment, his eyebrows nearly reached his hairline from surprise.  “Oliver?  What are you doing here?”  

“Hey, Tommy,” Oliver said, his arms wrapped around himself.  “Can I come in?”  

“Of course,” Tommy replied, stepping back.  “Are you okay?”  

Huffing out a laugh, he shook his head.  “No, I’m not.  But it’s a long story.”  

“Nothing I like better on a Saturday night than my best friend showing up to help me drink some really good Scotch,” Tommy said, smiling at Oliver even as his voice was serious.  Supportive.  

Somehow managing a smile, Oliver nodded.  “Some Scotch would be good.  But don’t let me drink as much as I did last time.”

“If I remember correctly, last time you did all your drinking before I showed up.  So coming here sober is already a step in the right direction,” Tommy called out as he headed to his kitchen.  There were quiet sounds of rattling and doors opening and closing, before Tommy appeared with two cut-glass tumblers, one filled with ice cubes.  

“True,” Oliver said, taking the glass that Tommy handed him and holding it out for the Scotch.  

“So . . . is this about Felicity?  I saw that article in the Tattler and guessed they were talking about her . . .”

Plopping down on the couch, Oliver cradled his glass, waiting to take his first sip.  “Part of it is about her, yeah.”  At Tommy’s curious look, he shrugged.  “I told you it was a long story.”  

“Okay . . .” Tommy said slowly.  “Then what else is it?”  

Leaning his head back, Oliver gazed up at the ceiling.  And he just started talking.  About the things he had learned from Felicity, about how he had worked so hard to get better, to become stronger.  About how things were good with Thea.

And about how things were not good with his mother.  

Because his talk with Moira had not gone well.  He had tried to stay calm, tried to stay focused on how her inaction made him feel now that he knew she had chosen to do nothing to help him.  Explained how lost and alone he had felt, and how if she had reached out to him, it would have made a difference.

“She said she didn’t understand why I was upset,” Oliver said, holding his glass out to Tommy for more Scotch.  Without a word, Tommy refilled it.  Oliver took a sip before he continued.  “That, after all, I was okay now, so it was fine that she hadn’t said anything.”  

Tommy snorted.  “But you only got to be okay with Felicity.  I mean, I tried, I’m sure Thea tried . . .”

“You don’t know how glad I am that you went to Felicity for me, Tommy,” Oliver said, turning his head to look at his best friend.  “I can’t believe you did that.”  

“Of course I did, bro,” Tommy slurred a little.  “You’ve been my friend my whole life.  And I knew you needed help.  And someone better than Helena.”  

Oliver arched an eyebrow.  “So you don’t think it’s bad, me being in love with Felicity?”  

“She got you to stand up to your mom!”  Tommy grinned, but then his grin faded.  “You’ve been needing to do that for a long time.  Do what I wished I could do.”  

Without a word, Oliver reached out and rested a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.  Malcolm Merlyn was a cold-hearted bastard, but he hadn’t always been like that.  And he knew that Tommy talked a good game, but deep down, he wished his father was different.  Just like Oliver wished his mother could be different.  

But maybe that was part of becoming who you were supposed to be.  Realizing that the people you loved the most could let you down, but you could accept it because it was more important to have them in your life.  Accepting that everyone was human and flawed and unpredictable, so you had to learn to live with that.  

His friend finished off his Scotch and then set down his glass.  “So Felicity vanished?”  

Nodding, Oliver let his hand fall from Tommy’s shoulder.  “Yeah.  Into thin air.  Not that she seemed to exist at all--at least, my private detective hasn’t found any sign of her.  Even with the illegal methods at his disposal, there’s nothing about her over the last five years.”  

“That sucks,” Tommy said succinctly.  

Huffing out an ironic laugh, Oliver put aside his glass.  “Yeah, it does.”  

A silence fell between them, as Oliver stared up at the ceiling again, the alcohol hitting him and making him feel morose.  Because . . . what if he never found out about Felicity’s recent past?  What if all he had left was this empty feeling, the sense that something was missing in his life?  That someone was missing?

He supposed that Felicity thought she was protecting him.  That she was saving him future heartbreak.  Saving herself, too.  Because maybe she didn’t care about him like that.  Or maybe she just didn’t see them working long-term.  It wasn’t like the odds were in their favor, after all.  He had never given his heart to any woman, had no experience with an actual intimate relationship with someone.  And Felicity . . . she had been hurt by people she had trusted.  She must be gun-shy about risking her heart.  

And there was the little fact that Felicity was a dominatrix, and if she appeared out of nowhere and started dating Oliver Queen, the papers would go digging and eventually figure out who she used to be.  And they would never let her forget it.  Never let her get past it.  Not as long as she was dating him.  

It all made him wish he had just told Felicity they should run away.  Get out of Starling, find someplace where no one knew either of them.  Someplace they could be together and just be Oliver and Felicity.  Not their roles or their jobs.  Just . . . them.

“What about her bodyguard?”  

Tommy’s question made Oliver jerk to attention.  “What?”

“Felicity’s bodyguard.  The big guy who answered her door when I showed up to see her,” Tommy said, turning to face him.  “Maybe he knows something?”

Oliver blinked.  “Holy shit.  I didn’t even think about him.”  

And really . . . why hadn’t he?  John Diggle was incredibly loyal to Felicity--and he had known her for years, Oliver seemed to remember.  He was bound to know  _something_  about where Felicity might go, he could give Oliver insight into what was going through her mind in the hours between Oliver leaving her suite and Felicity leaving Starling City.  

Fumbling for his phone, Oliver concentrated, trying to ignore the alcohol in his system.  He waited impatiently for Mark to pick up, and when the private detective did, said quickly, “Mark!  You need to keep looking for information on Felicity Smoak, but I also need a way to contact a John Diggle.  He’s connected to her.”

Mark’s voice sounded hesitant.  “Are you all right, Mr. Queen?”

“Yeah!” Oliver said, before realizing that in spite of his efforts, he must sound smashed.  “I mean, yes, I’m fine.  I just remembered about Mr. Diggle and I want you to get to work on this right away.  Tonight.”

There might have been a sigh from the other end of the phone, which made Oliver look at the clock on Tommy’s entertainment center and realize how late it was.  But he would make it up to Mark.  And since the man was a professional, he just said, “What can you tell me about this John Diggle?”

“About six foot three, muscular build--he’s fucking huge, actually--African-American, early forties I’d say,” Oliver said, reciting off what he knew.  “He works in private security.  Oh, and he grew up here in Starling City.”  Saying that made him remember one other fact.  “And he was Army Special Forces.”  

The investigator let out a soft whistle.  “With all this, it should be easy to locate Mr. Diggle.”  

Feeling hopeful for the first time since he found out Felicity had left, Oliver grinned.  “You find him, you’ll get a really big bonus, Mark.”  

“I’ll get right to work, Mr. Queen.  Have a good evening.”  

Thanking Mark, Oliver hung up the phone and looked at Tommy, his grin firmly fixed on his face.  “You are a fucking genius.”  

Tommy smirked.  “About time people started noticing.”  

Laughing, his heart light, Oliver nodded in agreement and then let his mind drift off into a happy daydream.  One where he was able to find Felicity.  Where he could just walk up to her, as a normal guy, and kiss her like a normal guy, and love her like a normal guy.  

XXX

Standing outside the door of John Diggle’s apartment, Oliver rolled his shoulders.  When Mark had called him and said that Mr. Diggle had apparently not left Starling City with Felicity, that he had an apartment that he had been seen entering and exiting over the last two weeks, Oliver had felt like everything was falling into place.  

But now, his fist raised to knock, Oliver wondered if it had been too simple.  Because just because he had found John Diggle didn’t mean he had found Felicity.  But this man was his only chance.  His only connection with Felicity.  

So pushing aside his nerves, Oliver rapped on the door to apartment number six.  

Footsteps approached the door and there was a pause.  A long one.  Like Mr. Diggle had looked through the peephole and was now trying to decide if he should open the door.  Oliver stood his ground, doing his best not to fidget.  And then, the sound of door locks being disengaged filled the air and Oliver took a deep breath.  

The John Diggle that appeared was dressed more casually than Oliver was used to seeing: jeans and a polo shirt, not a black suit and tie.  Yet there was still an air of command and power about the man.  “Mr. Queen,” he said, leaning slightly against the doorjamb.

“There’s no need to call me Mr. Queen,” Oliver said quietly.  “Oliver, Mr. Diggle.”  

With a long, penetrating look, Mr. Diggle took him in and then nodded.  “Okay, Oliver.  And it’s John.  Come on in.”  

Feeling like he had passed a test, Oliver smiled tightly and stepped into the apartment, looking around quickly.  It was very masculine yet warm at the same time.  Welcoming.  

It relaxed something inside him, made him feel a little spark of confidence.  Made him think this was the right choice, approaching Mr. Diggle--approaching John--for help.

“Have a seat.  Would you like something to drink?”  

“No, no, I’m fine,” Oliver said, sitting down in one of the leather club chairs that flanked the couch.  John nodded and sat across from him in the matching chair, leaning back and crossing his legs.  Looking confident and comfortable in his own skin.

Oliver swallowed.  “You--you probably know why I’m here.”  

Nodding, John leveled him with another one of those looks.  “I’m surprised it took you so long.”  

Clasping his hands between his knees, Oliver shrugged his shoulders.  “Yeah, well.”  He looked at John and licked his lips.  “So you know why I’m here.”

John nodded.  “I do.  You want to know where Felicity is.”  

“Yes,” he said quietly.  “I know you have no real reason to trust me, to believe me, but--but I care about Felicity.  I just want to know if she’s all right.  If there’s anything I can do to help her.  It’s not about me, I swear, I just--I need to know where she is, so if you know a way to contact her--”

“Oliver,” John said, holding up a hand and stopping him.  “I can’t tell you.”  

“Why not?” he asked, moving to the edge of his seat.  

The other man frowned, but Oliver didn’t look away.  He silently demanded that John answer him, and eventually, he did.  

“Because Felicity asked me not to tell anyone where she was going.  She wanted to cut all her ties with Starling City.  That’s why she let me go before she left,” John said, his voice even but his eyes looking worried.  

“She fired you?” Oliver asked, feeling surprise and despair war inside him.  Because cutting ties with someone like John Diggle . . . it gave further weight to John’s statement that she didn’t want any connection with Starling City.  

His lips pressed together, but John nodded.  “Yeah, I guess she did.  But that doesn’t mean I’m going to break her trust and tell you where she is.”  

“But do you have a way to contact her?” Oliver asked.  “I haven’t done anything to find out where she is now, John.  I’ve just been researching her.  Hoping that if I knew more about her past, I could guess where she is.  But my investigator, he hasn’t been able to find anything recent.”

John looked confused, but Oliver kept talking, his words tumbling out of him.  “Maybe that sounds crazy, maybe it’s splitting hairs--but I thought that wouldn’t be going against her wishes.  Not totally.  Because leaving town without telling me, without leaving me any way to talk to her--that was what she wanted, I know.  But I just--is she okay?  Do you know that?  Have you talked to her?”

“I . . . I have,” John said slowly, looking at Oliver like he was seeing him for the first time.  “Since the  _Tattler_  isn’t online, she needed to know if they were talking about you, if she needed to put her plan into effect.”  

“What is it?  Her plan?” Oliver questioned, leaning even farther forward.  

“I don’t know all of it,” John admitted reluctantly.  “But one part of it was . . . if the  _Tattler_  linked you with her, based on those photos of you on your date, and said you were seeing a dominatrix, she had it all worked out how to undermine them.  Planted articles about how it was just a date, allegations against the  _Tattler_ , the whole nine yards.  Enough to completely discredit the paper and make everyone forget that you had ever been mentioned as having a connection with her.”

The words don’t make sense at first.  Because . . . Felicity could do that?  It sounded amazing.  To think she could do all that--and she would do it to protect  _him_.  To make it seem like there was nothing between them . . .

And then, as the words sunk in, Oliver felt his heart beat harder.  Because yeah, Felicity protected her clients.  But--but this seemed above and beyond.  Didn’t it?  This seemed like more than anyone could expect.  

Could Felicity be doing all this because it was about him?  Was this the way she could show him how she felt for him?  

Could she love him, too?

His fingers twitched and spasmed as he tried to stay under control.  Tried not to beg John for where she was.  

“Do you know why she’s doing all this?” Oliver asked suddenly, the words falling from his lips before he was even aware of thinking them.  “Do you know why she’s doing so much to protect me?”  

It was probably hopeless.  Because John barely knew him.  And he was going to follow Felicity’s orders and not answer Oliver’s questions.  And even though it meant heartache, Oliver was glad that Felicity had someone like John.  Someone who wanted to keep her safe.  

At least she had someone, even if Oliver wanted, so desperately, for that person to be him.  

As he was coming to expect, John took a moment to respond.  Really thinking about what Oliver had said and formulating his own response.  Then, to his surprise, the older man stood up and went to a desk in the corner of the room, writing something on a piece of paper.  He folded the paper in half and then walked back to Oliver.  

“I think you know why, Oliver,” John said, holding the piece of paper in his hands.  “And she might not forgive me for what I’m about to do, for going against what she wants . . . but I think this is what she needs.”  

And with that, John held the piece of paper out to Oliver.

Hesitantly, his fingers trembling ever so slightly, Oliver reached out and took the paper from John.  Just before he opened it, John grinned with his eyebrows lifted, the expression transforming his face.  “Good luck.”    

After so much tension, seeing John’s smile made Oliver smile back.  Made him nod his head and said, “I think I’ll need it.”  

“Nah,” John said, mock-punching his shoulder.  “Go ahead,” he said, nodding to the still-folded paper in Oliver’s hand.  

He looked at the innocuous piece of yellow paper and took a deep breath.  And then, feeling like he was on the verge of his life changing, Oliver unfolded the paper to read what was inside.

End, Chapter 14


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the penultimate chapter of this fic. And it does end on a bit of a cliffhanger, although not as evil as chapter 14’s, I hope. Many thanks to fanmommer and callistawolf for giving this a read-over. 
> 
> For anyone who’s wondering, I do hope to do a series of one-shots from other character POVs to supplement this story--yes, you will be getting Felicity POV on certain moments. :-) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Even though he could have been on a jet to Las Vegas within an hour after he left John's apartment, Oliver waited three days to leave Starling City.

And only part of his reason for waiting was being scared of how Felicity would respond to seeing him again.

Because he didn't just want to show up.  He wanted to have a plan.  To think out what he was going to say to her.  To be ready, as much as possible, for whatever she might throw at him.

And he also needed time to see what Mark had learned.  Because Oliver had gotten an idea when the detective had passed along some initial information about Felicity’s recent past, along with John Diggle’s location.  But it was a fuzzy and half-formed idea and he needed to know more.

When Mark had called with a fuller report two days later, at the end of Wednesday, Oliver knew this was it.  The last pieces of his plan fell into place and by midday Thursday, he was flying to Las Vegas, ready to follow John's directions.

_Ghostbar at the Palms Las Vegas.  Ask for Donna’s daughter and they’ll let you see her_.

Between the minimal information from John and the gaps that still existed in Mark’s report, It wasn’t much.  And those gaps had prompted a dozen more questions in Oliver.  While he knew Mark had given him all he had, he still wished he knew more.  If only Oliver had worked up the courage to ask John . . . But he knew John had told him all he was willing to reveal.  

Asking for Donna’s daughter must have been Felicity’s way of making sure anyone who was looking for her was someone she wanted to see.  A password, of sorts.  And John Diggle had given that to him--given Oliver the means to find Felicity.

She was in Las Vegas.  The place where she had grown up.  Perhaps where her mother still was, if the code was anything to go by.  And something about Felicity returning to her childhood home, possibly going to see her mother . . . it made his heart go out to her.  Made him want to give her the same kind of comfort.  Because whatever place you called home, it would always take you in and make you feel safe.  

That was what Felicity was to him: home.  And he  hoped she might see that he could be home to her, too.  

By the time he arrived at the Palms, it was just before eight o’clock.  The sun had nearly finished setting, the last few hints of pink and orange at the horizon, but the sky above mostly inky black and filled with stars.  Stars that couldn’t rival the already-blazing electric lights, the casinos like bright jewels in the midst of the desert.  

Although he wanted to get a room, he decided to hold off.  If this went badly, he could just--he could just get back on the jet and return to Starling.  Because if Felicity didn’t want him there, he would rather leave.  And besides, if he booked a room, she might find out about it.  And he didn’t want to give her time to run away again.  

So even though his suit was rumpled from the long day, Oliver didn’t care as he stepped into Ghostbar, his eyes sweeping around the space.  It was like a dozen other nightclubs he had walked into over the course of his life, with expansive leather banquettes filled with the beautiful and the rich, an ornate bar staffed by equally attractive bartenders, and loud yet restrained music filling the space.  

The floor-to-ceiling windows, offering panoramic views of Las Vegas, were different, he admitted.  But neither the view nor anything else really held his attention.  He was only looking to find Felicity.  

But there was no sign of her.  

Taking a breath, Oliver noticed the hostess stand and stepped up to the pretty girl behind it.  The name tag fastened right on the swell of one of her breasts said “Meredith.”  She pasted an apologetic smile on her face, even as her eyes ran over him slowly, and said, “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have any tables available tonight--”  

Doing his best to act casual, like he didn’t have a care in the world, Oliver pulled out his wallet and handed Meredith his Amex Black card.  “Perhaps you could double-check?”  

The hostess took the card and he saw when she realized who he was.  His reputation was rarely of use to him--but tonight it was.  “Mr. Queen, I’d be happy to check again,” Meredith said, making a show of tapping on the tablet in front of her--a show that Oliver knew was for the benefit of others.  “We do have a very nice table available, near the windows.  Is there anyone else joining you?”  

“No, it’s just me,” he said as he took his credit card back from her.  Instinctively, he nearly gave her a lazy playboy smile and a line like “At least for now,” but that wasn’t him.  Not anymore.  And he couldn’t pull it off right now.  Not when he was so close to Felicity.  

“Then follow me,” Meredith said, turning to lead him deeper into the nightclub.  

When he saw the booth, Oliver felt like luck was on his side.  Because it was located near a corner of the nightclub, giving him the perfect view of the whole room while also allowing him to see the outdoor patio.  He guessed Felicity was working out of a back room, seeing her clients there, but she might come out and mingle with the guests of the nightclub.  If Felicity was here tonight, he would know.   

He frowned.  Did that make him a stalker?  Did all of this--finding out where she was, dropping everything and flying here, showing up unannounced at her place of work--was that stalking?  He kind of thought it was.  But--but this had been the only way to see her.  And John had told him how to find Felicity, which meant that he must have passed some kind of test to receive such valuable information.  

With a sigh, Oliver undid the button on his suit jacket and slid into the booth, nodding his thanks to Meredith before she slinked off.  Hopefully, the purity of his intentions was enough to offset whatever creepiness his actions might possess.  At least, he hoped Felicity would understand that.  

It wasn’t long before a tall, statuesque woman in a black dress and very high heels, her red hair scraped back into a tight bun, appeared before him.  “Good evening, Mr. Queen.  Would you be interested in bottle service tonight?”  

“No, thank you,” he told the waitress.  “Just--just a glass of Scotch.  And . . . is Donna’s daughter here?”

The waitress straightened up.  “I . . . I’ll have to check,” she said, her voice uncertain.  

“Please?” Oliver asked, gazing up at her.    

Narrowing her eyes, the waitress searched his face for a moment, then nodded.  “I’ll have that Scotch for you right away,” she promised before disappearing into the crowd.  

Oliver took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.  At least she had apparently understood the code--and hadn’t immediately dismissed him.  He wasn’t sure if that would have stopped him, though.  He was so close . . .

And then, suddenly, the crowd parted and he could have sworn he saw--

“Felicity?”  

Her name fell from his lips like a blessing or a prayer.  Because it had been seventeen days since she had left, and he hadn’t gone this long without seeing her since they had met, and God, he missed her and he loved her and he just--he wanted to know she was okay, that she was walking away from him only because she didn’t want him.  

Because any other reason was something they could work out.  Something they could face, together.

As quickly as she had appeared, she vanished into the crowd.  But Oliver wasn’t going to wait any more, not now that he had seen her.  Rising quickly to his feet, he walked straight towards the packed dance floor, using his height and his build to make room for himself and search for Felicity.  

But the nightclub was crowded and dimly lit, and Oliver was almost ready to accept he had imagined her, when he spotted her walking out onto the terrace. 

He had never moved as quickly as he did to catch up with her.  And when he was close to her, it was like the air around them felt differently.  Warmer, softer.  It made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t been for seventeen days.  

“Felicity,” he said, his voice choked.  

Maybe it was just surprise that made her stop suddenly, nearly stumbling on her high heels.  Maybe it was anger that made her whip her head around, her eyes immediately locking on his.  But he knew it was longing that made her entire face crumple for a split-second, looking like she couldn’t believe he was standing in front of her.  Looking like all she wanted was to throw her arms around him.

As quickly as those emotions flashed through her eyes, though, they were gone, and she was just staring at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted.  Then she swallowed and said, “Oliver?”

Nodding, he couldn’t help smiling at her, even though he had no idea what she was thinking or feeling--other than confusion.  “H-hi,” he said, stuttering a little from the rush of relief.  Because he had found her.

“I . . .” she said, still staring at him.  

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out.  “I know you left, I know you didn’t want me involved, but I . . . I want to be involved and I needed to know you were okay, and John told me I could find you here, and I hope you can forgive him and blame me if you’re angry.”  

“Angry?” she repeated, her eyes blinking slowly.  

His hands were practically itching with the desire--no, the need--to touch her, but somehow Oliver managed to keep his arms at his side.  “Because I tracked you down.”  

“Oh.  Oh, I’m not angry.  Wait, no, I am,” she said quickly, giving her head a shake.  “But--but I’m also at work, so . . .”  

Quickly skimming his eyes over her, Oliver frowned in confusion.  She was dressed like his waitress had been, in a skimpy black dress and with her hair pulled back.  But . . . but why was she working as a waitress?  

Taking a breath, he pushed aside that question and met her eyes again.  “Please, Felicity, can we talk?  When you’re done here?”  

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, nibbling it while a wrinkle appeared between her eyes.  She was confused, nervous, uncertain.  He just wanted to make things easier for her, not harder.  Yet at the same time, he had a feeling that they were both in for a long, difficult discussion.  If she agreed to talk to him.  

He ran a hand over his hair.  “Look, I’ve got a table right over there,” he said, gesturing back towards his booth.  “Take some time and think it over.  All the time you need.  Okay?”  

Felicity gave a jerky nod of her head, fidgeting with the tray he now spotted under her arm.  There was nothing else to say, but Oliver couldn’t help giving her a long look, trying to soak her in.  In case this was the last time he got to see her.  

And then he turned and walked away, towards his booth, where a glass of Scotch was waiting for him.  

Sitting down, he lifted the glass and took a sip, very carefully  _not_  looking around the room.   _Not_  searching for Felicity.   _Not_  feeling his heart shatter in slow, tiny cracks with each minute that went by, stuck in this limbo of not knowing what Felicity would decide.

XXX

As he stood beside Felicity in the elevator, Oliver couldn’t stop fidgeting.  He tried to hide it, by shoving his hands into his pockets and telling himself to stay still.  But then he would rock back on his heels, or pull his hands out of his pockets and fiddle with his shirt cuffs or run a hand over his hair.    

Meanwhile, Felicity stood still and quiet, her hands clasped in front of her.  She looked totally calm, unless Oliver looked at her eyes.  And then he saw all the emotion she was struggling with, the thoughts that must be crowding her mind. 

An hour had gone by before Felicity had approached him.  He had switched to coffee after his Scotch, not wanting to get drunk--and wanting to be awake enough to talk to her, whenever that might be, if that might be.  He had caught glimpses of her during that hour, but whenever their eyes met, they both looked away.  

But then Felicity was walking towards his table, carrying a tray of empty glassware, and Oliver’s hand had gripped his coffee mug tightly, bracing himself.

Just as she walked past his table, she had stumbled and dropped her tray.  The glasses hit the carpet and didn’t break, but she had immediately crouched down to start picking them up.

“Oliver.”  

Her voice had been a low hiss.  He had started to get up--to help her, to get close to her, he didn’t know--but she had kept going.  “Stay where you are.  They’re strict about the waitresses interacting with the customers.  No hook-ups allowed.”

“Okay,” he had said, easing back against the booth.  

“Get a room here.  The hostess can do that for you,” Felicity had instructed him, glancing around the club.  “We’ll talk when I’m finished for the night.  Probably around one.”  

Oliver had nodded.  “Okay,” he had repeated, feeling jittery and shaky.  Because Felicity was going to talk to him.  Because she wasn’t trying to disappear on him again.  

“Need a hand, Megan?” Oliver’s waitress had asked in a low voice as she swooped down beside Felicity.  

“Thanks, Dee,” Felicity had replied quickly, finishing picking up the glassware.  “Stupid heels, I’m still not used to them.”  An excuse that Oliver knew was a blatant lie, with how he knew Felicity could work a pair of heels.    

“You’ll get used to them, honey,” Dee had told her with a smile.  She had straightened up and smiled at Oliver.  “Mr. Queen, more coffee?”  

No mention of “Donna’s daughter,” Oliver noticed.  Which meant that his waitress--Dee--was watching out for Felicity.  Good.  He was glad for that.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he had noticed Felicity tensing, although he wasn’t quite sure why.  Instead, Oliver had smiled and nodded to his waitress.  “Yes, but this time, let’s make it Irish.  Oh, and I’m thinking I’m going to need a room here.  Who can I talk to about that?”  

“If you want to use the same card, I can get Meredith to handle that for you, Mr. Queen,” Dee had said with a brisk air, gathering up his empty mug.  “I’ll be right back with your Irish coffee.”  

Everything was a bit of a blur after that.  Now it was just after one in the morning and he was going with Felicity to his room, after meeting her by the elevator bank outside the nightclub at the end of her shift.  They were going to a hotel room where he was going to put his heart on the line and ask her to give them a chance.  

He had no idea how she would react to his offer.  No way of guessing whether she was interested in what he was offering her--a new future for herself, along with his heart and his soul.  But he knew he had to tell her how he felt.  It was the only way he could justify what he had done.  

Hopefully, it would be enough.   _He_  would be enough.

The quiet ding of the elevator cut through his thoughts, and he let Felicity step out of the elevator first.  He watched as she walked down the hall, seeing the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself so rigidly.  And all he wanted was to lift her burdens up.  

The first time he had heard her voice, she had asked him what kind of man he would be without his responsibilities.  And Oliver had learned that it was impossible for him to shrug off all his duties.  And he didn’t want to be the kind of footloose, irresponsible man he used to be.  The trick was learning that he had the control.  He could decide what was important for him, what he wanted to prioritize.  It was that realization that had let him deal with his feelings of anxiety, helped him defeat the panic attacks he used to fear.  Yet he also knew that any control he possessed, he had to be willing to let go of it, too.  To rely on other people, to fight and disagree and be disappointed.  

Felicity had taught him that.  She had guided him on a journey of self-discovery, letting him explore his own nature in ways he had never considered.  And if he could, he wanted to return the favor.  By lifting her burdens, by letting her be whoever she wanted to be.  

Even if that meant she wasn’t with him.  

Taking a deep breath, Oliver lengthened his strides and caught up with Felicity, his hand lightly grazing her lower back as he walked her the rest of the way to his room.  Her spine felt like steel under his fingers until she relaxed, ever-so-slightly, into his touch.  

“Right here,” he said quietly, withdrawing the room card and swiping it through the lock.  With a click, the door opened and they both stepped into the junior suite.  It wasn’t as large as the room Felicity had occupied in Starling, but just as lavish.  

“Are you hungry?  I can order some room service,” he offered, closing the door and watching as she walked towards the windows that looked out over the Strip.  “Or if you’d like to shower--”

“Oliver, stop.”  Felicity turned around to face him, her arms wrapped around her torso.  Her voice sounded tired and drawn, which matched the look on her face.  “You don’t have to do this.”  

In a few steps, he had closed most of the distance between them.  “Do what?  Try to make you comfortable?  Help you?”  He paused, gazing at her.  “Find you?”

She pressed her lips together and gave her head a shake.  “I don’t know.”

Sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, Oliver took a deep breath.  “Why don’t you take a seat?  I . . . I have some things to tell you.”  

With her arms still wrapped around herself, Felicity nodded a little and then dropped down onto the sofa that looked out over the view of Las Vegas.  He so much wanted to sit next to her and wrap his arm around her, to recapture all those hours they had spent together on the sofa in her hotel suite, but instead, he took the chair that was catty-corner to her end of the couch.  

“First off, it was Helena who sold you out to the  _Tattler_ ,” Oliver began, wanting to deal with the easier problem first.  “She needed money and that was how she was getting it--feeding them info about her and me--but once I broke up with her, she was worried about the well drying up.”  

“I know,” Felicity said softly.  “John . . . he approached the reporter.  Got him to reveal his source.”

Given the size of John’s arms, Oliver would bet that just the sight of those muscles had been enough for Lonnie Machin to spill the beans.  

Oliver rested his hands on his knees, gripping them tightly so he wouldn’t reach for Felicity’s hands.  “Helena won’t be a problem for me or for you ever again.  I made sure of that.”

Her eyes, which had been fixed on the floor, lifted to meet his.  Oliver took a breath at the sadness he saw on her face, the regret.  “Felicity?” he asked, moving forward to be closer to her.  

“I didn’t want you to have to do that.  To get involved.”  

It was on the tip of his tongue to reassure her.  To tell her it didn’t matter.  That he had wanted to do it.  But for some reason, when he spoke, he said something else entirely.  “Why?”

“Why didn’t I want you to get involved?” she asked.  When he only nodded, she sighed.  “Oliver, I’ve been prepared to be outed ever since I started being a sex worker.  I was willing to accept whatever happened.”  

He didn’t understand.  It was just so fatalistic.  And it didn’t seem like Felicity to be this resigned to accepting unfair treatment.  Why didn’t she want to fight?  Did it have something to do with the still-murky circumstances that had lost her all the scholarships she had been using to pay for college?  

Mark had uncovered that Felicity Smoak had a full ride to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, had placed in a national science competition as a nineteen-year-old, had an incredibly bright future ahead of her.  And then, right after her junior year, something had happened and all her scholarships were withdrawn.  There were indications that it might have something to do with the death, while in federal custody, of another MIT student.  She was allowed to complete her degree, but there was no indication that Felicity had ever applied for any technology-related position at any company in Silicon Valley.  Or anywhere else.  

“Were you prepared because--was it because of what happened?  At MIT?”  

Felicity’s eyes closed, her mascaraed lashes looking very dark against her pale skin.  “Yes,” she admitted, her voice low and trembling.  Her body was held so still, yet she sounded like she was on the verge of breaking.  

Lifting a finger, Felicity carefully wiped at her eyes before looking right at him.  He could see her attempting to keep her emotions under control.  “I was a hacker in college.  So was my boyfriend.  He used an algorithm I created to break into the Department of Education’s servers and wipe out a bunch of student loans.  I stopped him before it was too late, but I hadn’t realized he had memorized how to use my algorithm.  And then he started using it in his hacks.  And he wasn’t just going after the Department of Education.”  

Oliver swallowed, his heart breaking for that young, trusting, in-love Felicity.  

Her fingers twisted together in her lap as Felicity went on.  “The NSA and FBI arrested him, and he tried to protect me, but . . . Cooper was a genius with computers, but he wasn’t exactly Perry Mason.  He accidentally implicated me, and he felt so guilty he--he--”  

Unable to stand it any longer, Oliver reached out and rested his hand over hers.  “He killed himself?”  He phrased it as a question, even though he knew, thanks to Mark’s report, that Cooper Seldon had hung himself in his cell.  

Nodding jerkily, Felicity took a deep breath.  “Yes.  And then I was arrested.  They knew I was responsible for the algorithm, but since there was no evidence I had ever used it illegally, they couldn’t charge me.  They couldn’t deny me my degree, either, although they took away my scholarships.  But . . . but they utterly discredited me.  If I ever applied for any kind of IT job, red flags went up all over the place whenever they ran a security screening.”  

And there it was: the answer to one of the biggest questions about Felicity.  Why she hadn’t been able to work with computers.  Oliver felt a spark of anger flicker to life, because it wasn’t fair.  She had done nothing wrong--well, nothing that deserved this kind of punishment.  It made him even more resolved to see through what he wanted to offer to Felicity.      

“I’m so sorry, Felicity,” he said quietly, keeping his hand wrapped around hers.  She laced her fingers through his, holding on to him tightly, as she looked at him with glassy eyes.  

“Thank you,” she replied, sniffing a little.  “I was so angry with Cooper, and disappointed, but then he died and . . .”  

Oliver nodded, rubbing her fingers.  “So that changed your life.”  

“Yes,” she said, breathing in and out slowly.  “At first, I was just doing this to pay for MIT.  Because even if it wouldn’t be worth anything, I wanted my degree--it was worth something to  _me_.  And then . . . I just kept doing it.  Kept being a sex worker.”  She shrugged her shoulders.  

“Kind of like how I’m a CEO,” he offered her with a small smile.  “Because I don’t know what else I could do.”  

“Kinda,” she said, a weak smile flashing across her face for a moment.  She rolled her shoulders and straightened up, looking right at him.  “So . . . now you know.”  

There was something in her voice, something brisk and no-nonsense, that made him feel nervous.  Like she was trying to wrap this up so she could leave.  So she could escape.  “Now I know a little bit more than before,” he corrected gently.  “There’s still so much I wish I knew about you.”  

She tilted her head to the side, still looking at him.  “Why don’t you ask me, then?”  

Dropping his eyes to their hands, Oliver took in the differences between them.  His fingers were long and lightly tanned, with a few callouses built up from lifting weights over the years.  Her skin was pale and smooth, her graceful fingers tipped with deep purple polish.  

“I’m afraid if I start asking you questions, I’ll need the rest of our lives to get all the answers I’m looking for,” he said softly, dragging his eyes from their hands to her face.  Seeing her lips part and her eyes go wide.  

“Oliver . . .” she whispered, pulling her hand away from his.  “You--you can’t say things like that.”  

“Please, Felicity,” he said, leaning in towards her.  “Please let me say it.”  

It was so clear, looking into her eyes, that she knew what he was going to say.  And that she was scared of hearing his words.  Because they would change things.  He had known that, too.  Once he had allowed himself to accept that he loved Felicity, he had held back from confessing his feelings for the same reasons: being scared, being unsure.  But Felicity had been so scared--of what she guessed he felt, of what they would mean, even of her own feelings, too--that she had left Starling City without a backwards glance.  

But Felicity didn’t have to be scared.  He didn’t want her to be scared of him, or her own feelings, or anything.  And he was tired of being scared.  Now that he knew what it was like to live without her . . . well, if he had to live without her, he wanted her to know how he felt, at least.  So she would know just how much someone loved her.  

Felicity’s lower lip was paler than her top one.  She had gnawed away most of her lipstick, and her teeth were still sunk in her lower lip.  Reaching out, he gently tugged her lip free, then let his thumb lightly brush her chin and along her jaw.  She gasped softly, and he took that as permission to speak.  To tell her.  

“I love you,” he breathed out, delicately cupping her face in his hand.  “I think I’ve loved you since I met you, but I knew I loved you when you took away my control and made me see what kind of man I want to be.  And all I want is for you to be happy.”  

“And to love you back,” Felicity said, her voice cracking on the words.

“I want that, yes,” he told her, feeling like he was in a race with time.  “But more than anything, I want your happiness.  To give you whatever help you’re willing to take from me, to be someone you can tell anything, to be the person you can rely on.”  

Felicity slid away from him, her hands gripping the sofa cushions.  “You’re not the first client to think he loves me, Oliver.”

“I’m sure I’m not,” Oliver said, gazing at her.  Feeling his heart beat harder in his chest.  Because she hadn’t immediately turned him down.  She hadn’t said anything about how she felt.  The more reasons she gave for why he couldn’t love her, the more she disagreed with him . . . the more he hoped that it was just her fear talking.  And hopefully, she would reach a point where she realized she could believe him.  That she could trust him.

That she could love him.

“I’m sure that there’s so many men who think they’ve fallen in love with you,” he continued.  “But I’m not them.  I’m me.  Oliver Queen.  And I love you, Felicity Smoak, and I want to make you an offer.”  

A bitter-sounding laugh slipped past her lips.  “So far, you’re not sounding so different from those other men, Oliver.”  

This was all a defense mechanism.  He knew that.  But it still took everything he had to stay calm, to stay patient.  To not rise to the bait.  

“Just hear me out,” he asked, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of her.  “Listen to me, and then whatever your answer, I will accept it.  I swear, Felicity.”  

She sighed, dropping her face into her hands for a moment.  He knew she was tired, could sense that she was hurting.  He just hoped his words would help ease her hurt.  

“Okay,” she said, her voice muffled by her hands.  She lifted her head and dropped her hands into her lap, looking right at him with her chin lifted and her jaw set.  

Oliver felt a small smile turn his lips upward as he took in her show of strength.  Felicity was so strong.  He loved that about her.  Loved so many things about her.  And now it was time to prove it.  

“Okay.  My offer,” he said, trying to remember everything he had planned to say to her.  But the words had disappeared, leaving him an awkward, fumbling mess.  Something about her looking at him, waiting for him to speak, clearly bracing herself for something she didn’t want to hear, but being willing to hear him out . . .

“I had a private detective look into your background,” Oliver began.  

“I know,” Felicity said, quirking an eyebrow at him.  “He didn’t find much from the last few years, did he?”  

Smiling a little, he shook his head.  He should have known the black hole of the last five years had been something Felicity was responsible for--and that she would know if anyone checked up on her.  “Not at first.  Not until he resorted to certain . . . less-than-legal methods, at my request.”  

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, her eyebrow still raised, as if she was waiting for him to stop stalling.  

“He found enough.  Enough for me to know what I wanted to offer you,” Oliver said.  “I want you to have a choice.  Beyond being able to pick what you really want to drink when you’re with a client.  A real choice.  So you can decide what you want to do.”  

The amused look on Felicity’s face faded, replaced with wariness, caution . . . worry.  But Oliver pressed on, feeling the smallest flicker of confidence grow inside him.  

“If you’d like to continue being a dominatrix, you can do that.  Helena is leaving Starling City--she’s probably already gone--and the  _Tattler_  has agreed to drop the story.”

Felicity opened her mouth, but then hesitated.  “Did you have to pay them off?” she said quickly.  

“No,” he told her, which was the truth.  He hadn’t had to use money--just implied threats--to get Darhk to back down.  

At Felicity’s small nod, Oliver went on.  “So if that’s what you want, you can keep working.  In Starling City or anywhere else.  The story hasn’t gone beyond one article in the  _Tattler_ , and it’s been nearly three weeks.  It’s practically dead.”  

Oliver licked his lips--and was it his imagination, or did Felicity’s eyes flick down to his mouth for a split-second?  Giving himself a mental shake, he kept talking.  “But I have another option for you.  One that I hope you’ll really consider.”  

“If it’s about taking me away from all this--” Felicity began, but Oliver’s patience was beginning to fray.  He knew Felicity would second-guess him, but this--this was getting ridiculous.  

“No,” he snapped.  “I was going to help you clear your name and your record.” 

She blinked, her mouth hanging open.  After a moment, she closed her lips and swallowed.  “What?”

“My family has connections.  So does Tommy’s.  We were going to work together to help you get those red flags removed.  So you could work in IT.  I mean, I didn’t know the full story until just now, but the fact that you haven’t done anything since you graduated, haven’t tried to find work under the table, it would go a long way towards easing the minds of the Feds.  That, and the people I can contact on your behalf have the power to lean on the FBI and the NSA.”

When he had contacted Tommy for his help, his best friend had immediately agreed to do what he could.  They came from two of the most powerful families in the state; there were politicians who owed their families favors.  They could do this.  They could help Felicity, could help make her degree actually matter and not be worthless.  

As he had spoken, Oliver watched Felicity’s face.  Watched to see if she believed him, if she thought he was sincere.  Her eyes stayed wide and she seemed to be hanging on his every word.  It was as if she was barely breathing.  

“It’ll probably take some time,” he explained, stumbling a bit over his words.  “And--and it won’t be easy.  A lot of time spent with lawyers, a lot of money, but doesn’t matter to me, but if you, that is, if you felt like you needed to repay me someday, we could work something out.  It’s not necessary, though.  But that’s the other option.”

“Oh,” Felicity mumbled, sounded awed.  Her eyes were fixed on his, and there was something in them . . .

Oliver stood up from his seat on the coffee table, needing to move.  To release some of the tension and the nervous energy that had suddenly filled him.  He slipped through the spaces between the pieces of furniture, pacing around the sofa and chairs, feeling Felicity’s eyes on him.  And then he realized why she might seem so shocked.  Why she couldn’t look away from him.

She might think she had to choose him, along with either of the two options.  

Whirling around, he looked at her, feeling his face go red.  “I’m not part of this,” he blurted out.  “I mean, clearing your name, it doesn’t matter how I feel.”  

“What?”  Felicity looked utterly confused . . . and something else.  Sad?  Yes.  She looked a bit sad.  But Oliver didn’t have time to figure that out, because he needed to explain.  

“I--I thought we had something after our date.  And I love you.  But--but if you decide I’m not what you want, that doesn’t mean I won’t help you.  So you can make your decision, without considering me,” Oliver told her, hearing how fast and high-pitched his voice was.  He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.  Trying not to feel so jittery, because this was getting much too close to how he felt when a panic attack was imminent, and that was the last thing he needed right now.  

And he had been undercutting himself all night.  Downplaying what he wanted.  This was his only chance to really make a case for himself.  

Once he felt like he knew what to do, Oliver walked back over towards Felicity and sat down beside her on the sofa.  His eyes connected with hers as he reached out and took her hand in both of his.  

“I want you to have what you want,” he told her quietly.  “I want that to be your priority.  No having to make do, no having to settle or find a way to get part of what you want.  And I want to be something you want.  I want to be your choice.  Because I want you to be happy, and Felicity, if you took a chance on me--on us?  I could make you so happy.”  

Slowly, he rubbed his thumbs against her hand.  “Do you have any questions?” 

She nodded her head up and down, her eyes not moving from his face.  “You--you’d really walk away if I said I didn’t want you?  But you’d still help me?”  

“Yes,” he answered immediately.  And then he decided to go for broke.  “But I would miss you.  A lot.  And I think you’d regret it.”  

“If I stayed as a dominatrix--would you want to continue as my client?”  

Swallowing, Oliver dropped his eyes for a moment.  He hadn’t thought of that question.  Hadn’t really prepared an answer.  But instinctively, he shook his head.  “No.  No, I don’t think so.”  

“You really think you could get me cleared?” Felicity asked, something in her voice making him look up.  And in her eyes was the same thing he heard in her voice.

Hope.

And seeing Felicity look at him like that made a giddy sense of relief and anticipation start to build inside him.  

“I’m willing to try,” he told her, holding her hand tighter.  “For as long as it takes, Felicity.  Whatever it takes.”  

Felicity’s eyes roamed over his face, like she was trying to see past his physical appearance and into his soul.  He let her look, even though his breaths were starting to come a bit faster, even as his mind was beginning to spin with all the possibilities.  Because--because he thought that maybe, just maybe--

“Yes.”  

“Yes?” he repeated dumbly.  

A huge smile appeared on her face, a smile that Oliver wasn’t sure he had ever seen before--but one that he really, really, really hoped he would get to see again.  “Yes, Oliver,” she answered, pulling her hand free and then wrapping her arms around him.  

It felt so amazing and wonderful and perfect to have Felicity in his arms, to have her initiate physical contact like this.  Oliver closed his eyes and leaned his face in against her neck, breathing her in.  Because underneath the smell of cigarettes and hairspray . . . he could smell the clean citrus scent of Felicity.

But then his eyes popped open as he realized something.  

All she had said was “yes.”  But what exactly was Felicity saying yes to?  

End, Chapter 15


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s so amazing to me how much this fic has been embraced. I started it with no real idea what was going to happen; I flew by the seat of my pants and just did what felt right. It’s not something I normally do--not something I’d normally recommend--but it has been thrilling to be on this ride with all of you. I’m just a little bit ahead of y’all, since I was writing it. :-)
> 
> Many thanks to callistawolf, fanmommer and closer2fine for being my first readers and cheerleaders: the people I could go to when I needed to talk out my ideas and questions. And thank you to everyone who has been reading this fic and supporting it. I am so very lucky to receive your encouragement and passion! 
> 
> This isn’t the end of this universe, but this is the end of this story. And now, without further ado, the last chapter . . .

As he held Felicity, Oliver wondered if he should wait until she stopped hugging him to ask her what she meant by “yes.”  After all, if this was the last time he got to hold her like this, he should make the most of it, right?  Really savor it?  

He didn’t think this was going to be the last time, though.  He didn’t think Felicity would hug him like this if she was going to go back to being a dominatrix, if they would never see each other again.  He didn’t think she would do that to him.

But he didn’t  _know_.

And right now, he didn’t want to wait any longer to know what she meant by “yes.”

“Felicity?”  

Her lips brushed against his neck, making him shiver.  “Yes, Oliver?” she asked, her voice happy and delightfully seductive.  

Did he really have to ask her?  Couldn’t they just stay like this for the rest of the night?  Or at least a little bit longer?  

Taking a deep breath, he screwed up all his courage and willpower.  “What did you mean by ‘yes’?”

Just like that, the hug was over.  Felicity pulled back, her hands resting on his shoulders as she looked at him.  Oliver looked back at her, his hands dropping down to rest against the sofa cushions.  Finally noticing that somehow, while they were hugging, Felicity had ended up in his lap.  After a moment, she smiled softly and a bit shyly, sliding her hands up to cup his face.  “I guess because you’re not in my head, you don’t know what I meant.”  

Oliver shook his head a little, not wanting her to move her hands.  “No . . . no, I don’t know.  And I’d like to.”  

Gently, Felicity stroked her thumbs against his cheeks, gazing at him.  She drew in a breath and spoke quietly.  “I . . . I would like your help to get my record cleared.  So I could work in IT.”  

Even though it wasn’t the answer he was hoping to hear, Oliver still smiled.  Because . . . Felicity wanted his help.  She believed she could trust him.  She was actually making a choice so she could get what she wanted and he was happy for her.  He really was.  “As soon as it’s not the middle of the night, I’ll start making some phone calls, get the ball rolling,” he told her.

“No, you won’t,” Felicity said, still stroking his skin, making him feel like he was on fire.  It felt so amazing, it took him a moment to grasp what she had said.  

“What?”  

She smiled at him again, like she had before she hugged him.  But this time, her eyes shimmered, like she was on the verge of crying.  “You’re going to be too busy for a while to make any phone calls,” she said, sliding her hands down and around his neck, lowering her forehead to rest against his.  Shifting closer to him, moving on his lap, making him press his lips together before he reached out and took hold of her hips, stopping her.  

“Felicity, what are you--”  

“Oliver,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes.  “I’m not saying ‘yes’ to your offer.  I mean, I am, but--but I’m saying ‘yes’ to you.”  

He felt his lips part as his mouth dropped open.  All he could see was Felicity.  All that existed was Felicity, smiling at him, looking at him like she--

“I love you,” she said, just before her lips pressed against his.  

It took him a moment to respond.  Because sometimes, when you got everything your heart desired, when the woman you love said she loved you back, it was just too big an upheaval of everything you used to know for you to immediately react.  

And then he realized that he wasn’t dreaming and Felicity loved him and Oliver’s mind stopped working.  But that was all right, because his heart felt like it was more than capable for the task at hand.  

Which was loving her back.  

Gasping, he wrapped his arms around Felicity and pulled her against his chest.  He closed his eyes, returning her kiss with everything he had.  Feeling like he could cry, because . . . this was all he had wanted and hadn’t been sure he was going to get.  

Their lips moved against each other’s with the familiarity of all their past kisses, but the emotional intensity made Oliver tremble.  Felicity’s hands slid into his hair, her fingers digging into his scalp.  She pressed her torso against his, muttering against his lips, “Need to be closer . . .”  

Needing air, Oliver pulled away from her mouth, opening his eyes as he panted.  “Felicity,” he said, loving the way her eyes lit up.  

“I love how you say my name,” she said, her words mirroring his thoughts and making him smile at her.  She smiled back, brushing her nose against his.  “It made me so happy that I didn’t use a fake one, like I was told to do when I started training.”  Her fingers stroked the back of his neck.  “But I just couldn’t--and then you walked into my room and you said it the way you do: Fe-li-ci-ty.  You make my name sound right.”  

“I love your name,” he said, moving his hands over her back.  

Her face grew serious, her smile fading a little.  “You’re sure?” she asked softly.  “This isn’t going to be easy.  My past, your past . . . I’ve only had one boyfriend.  I’m not good at trusting people, and I might not end up working in Starling City, even if we are successful at getting my record cleared--”  

“Hey, hey,” he said quietly, taking her shoulders in his hands.  “We’ll figure it out.  We can do that, because--Felicity, do you know how huge it feels to me, the fact that you asked me for my help?  That you trust me?”  

She nodded.  “It is huge.  It--it’s why I ran.  I just--I wanted to trust you.  I wanted to believe you.  But everything I knew was telling me it was too dangerous . . .”  Felicity bit her lower lip and Oliver stayed quiet, letting her work through her thoughts.  He rubbed up and down her arms slowly, hoping to ease the tension that had crept into her body, and after a moment, Felicity let out a breath and relaxed.  

“But I missed you,” she admitted, sounding sheepish.  “I wasn’t prepared for that.  And--and when I came here, the last thing I could do was act like nothing had changed.  Like I hadn’t changed.  It was impossible.  That’s why I was waitressing.  A friend of my mom’s got me the job upstairs, because--because I just couldn’t--”  

“You couldn’t what?” Oliver asked, searching her face.  Wanting to know, hoping she would tell him and continue this process of removing all the barriers between them.  

He watched as her eyes slid away from his face, looking off into the distance.  “I couldn’t have sex with anyone else,” she gulped.  “I tried, the night before our date, and I--I froze up and used the safe word and John helped get the client out of my room before I started crying.”  

Under his hands, she was trembling.  It was instinctive for him to hug her, to give her every bit of comfort he could.  “Shhh,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple and to her hair.  “It’s okay, Felicity.  It’s okay.”  

Her face pressed against his neck and she clung to him.  “I was so scared,” she said.  “Because I knew what I felt and I knew I was in such trouble, even before the date, and I wasn’t even sure how you felt, although--although deep down, I  _knew_  you cared about me.  And that it was real.  And with the  _Tattler_  and worrying about you . . . I just had to get away.  I felt like I couldn’t breathe.” 

Rocking her a little, Oliver spoke softly.  “So you came to Vegas?”  

Felicity nodded, her face still against his neck, and then took a deep breath and sat up.  She rubbed her fingers under her eyes and gave him a lopsided smile.  “How bad is my makeup now?”  

“You look beautiful,” he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist and dropping a soft kiss on her lips.  

“Oliver,” she said, her voice amused, “my mascara must be everywhere--”

“Doesn’t matter, you’re still beautiful,” he told her, moving his lips over her jaw.  He knew there was so much for them to discuss, so much to get worked out, but . . . he had her in his arms.  She had chosen herself, but she had also chosen him.  She was taking such an enormous risk for him and his brain had short-circuited and he just wanted to kiss her.  

So he brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her slowly.  Felicity sighed against his lips, her hands moving over him slowly, tracing the lines of his muscles through his clothes.  He closed his eyes and stroked her sides, falling into her, remembering her taste and what she liked.  The way gently sucking on her lower lip made her moan, how the sides of her breasts were oh-so-slightly ticklish.  

And Felicity met him halfway.  Because she knew that lightly nipping at his upper lip always got a reaction from him and that he liked it when she ran her hands through his hair from the nape of his neck to the top of his head.  

After a long, endless kiss, Oliver finally had to pull back for air and let his head drop back against the couch, gazing up at her.  Her eyes were darker than the mascara smudges and her lips were red and puffy.  He reached out and rubbed his thumb against her lower lip, smiling at her.  

“What’s that smile for?” Felicity asked, smiling back and then biting softly on his thumb.  

“You,” he groaned softly.  “We should probably talk more, but first--”  

Letting go of his thumb, Felicity nodded eagerly.  “Yes.”  Her hand lifted, not to unzip her dress but to take down her hair.

Purely to help, he moved his hands to unzip her dress and she grinned at him.  “Thank you,” she said saucily, tossing aside the pins and running her hands through her hair.  

“You’re welcome,” he said very seriously, knowing his eyes were sparkling at her.  Because he was just so goddamn  _happy_.

“You are wearing too many clothes,” she said, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders.  “I need to touch you all over.”  

“No complaints from me,” Oliver replied, leaning forward to get his jacket off.  

Felicity giggled, and it was so joyful that he couldn’t help the small smirk at making her laugh like that.  At making her happy.  

Her fingers immediately began undoing his shirt buttons as her lips attacked his neck, and Oliver groaned, his smirk fading.  He gripped her hips and held on, feeling the wave of sensation sweep over him.  Because it had been so long since she had touched him like this, and he had missed her, and it felt better than it ever had before.

“Mmmmm,” Felicity moaned softly.  Her tongue swirled against the hollow of his throat and he grunted, his hips arching up against her.  With her dress unzipped, it was loose enough to let her fully straddle him and press her core against him.  Even though his pants, he could feel her damp heat, and his cock grew impossibly hard.  

“Enough,” he muttered, one hand gripping her ass tightly as he used the other to push himself up from the couch.  Felicity let out a muffled yelp and wrapped both arms and legs around him as he carried her towards the bed.  

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to that.  You just picking me up and carrying me someplace,” she said, her hands stroking his shoulders.  

Giving her a small smile, Oliver gently lowered her to the bed.  The feeling of settling on top of her, between her thighs and against her torso, his arms holding himself up so he could gaze at her face . . . it was awe-inspiring.  

“I like it.  I might not be able to stop, so I hope you like it,” he told her, his hands brushing her hair back.  

She lifted her eyebrows.  “Did I say anything about not liking it?”  Her hands tugged at his shirt, pulling the shirttails free of his pants and working with him to slide it off.  

Returning to his original position but now shirtless, he smiled wider at her.  “No, but fair warning, even if you didn’t . . . I won’t stop carrying you to bed.”  

Her fingers danced over his shoulders and neck and back, making him breathe harder.  Her touch felt different: firmer, more . . . possessive.  He liked it.

“I want you to,” Felicity said, looking up at him with soft, warm eyes.  And he had gone too long without kissing her, so he lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers.  

Oliver felt his body tighten, growing hotter the longer they kissed and touched.  But even as he wanted to bury himself inside her, he couldn’t help taking his time.  Getting to be with her, showing her all his affection and love, not having to hold anything back . . .

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips.  “I love you,” he breathed out as he nuzzled her.  “I love you,” he murmured as he kissed her temple.  

And Felicity liked it.  Liked hearing him say the words.  He could tell from the way her cheeks flushed, from the brightness in her eyes, from the tiny little intake of breath every time he said the words . . . he would bet she hadn’t heard those words very often in her life.  He resolved to tell her all the time, until she teased him that the meaning had gone out of the words, yet they would both know she didn’t really mean it.  Because there was no way “I love you” would ever mean anything less than everything.  

Felicity’s hands gripped his sides, just above the waist of his pants, as she arched against him.  “Oliver . . .”  

Dropping a light kiss against the side of her neck, he nodded at her and moved up onto his knees.  “Enough foreplay,” he said, his voice deeper than normal.  He gently tugged on her dress, pulling it all the way off and leaving Felicity in just her underwear.  

“More than enough--just seeing you shirtless is enough foreplay,” she replied, reaching underneath herself to undo her bra.  

But Oliver’s hands had stilled on her hips, ready to pull off her thong but pausing because of her words.  “Really?”  

Felicity stopped and looked up at him.  And then she smiled softly and nodded.  “You are ridiculously beautiful.  Like, that first night?  I wanted to climb you like a tree from the minute you walked in--but also wrap you up in my arms and make all your problems go away.”  She gazed at him for a long moment, caught in her memories.  “And that was different for me.  You were different.”  

God, he could become addicted to this: Felicity talking to him, sharing her thoughts, letting down her walls and showing him the real her.  It made him fall even deeper in love with her.  

“I’ve got too many clothes on,” he muttered, moving his hands to his belt.  

“Agreed,” Felicity grinned, tossing aside her bra and leaning up to pepper his collarbones with kisses.  Her breasts brushed against his chest, distracting him almost as much as her mouth against his skin.  

Trying to get out of his pants while lowering his head to kiss Felicity, Oliver overcompensated.  With a yelp, he fell to the side, ending up on his back on the bed.  Felicity laughed and immediately straddled him, her smile so bright, it lit up the whole room.  He smiled back at her, amazed at the laughter and light of her.  

“Very graceful, Mr. Queen,” Felicity teased, using one arm to hold herself up on top of him.  

“Kiss me,” he half-demanded, half-pleaded, tugging her down towards him.  

“With pleasure,” she said, just before their lips met.    

Their kiss was slow and soft, sweet and intense.  Full of emotion and blazing sexual heat.  It was everything Oliver had wanted to have with Felicity, this feeling of utter completeness.  

Because she was everything.  

His hands couldn’t stop moving over her, exploring her body like it was the first time.  He lingered on his favorite spots, places he knew Felicity liked to be touched, while searching out new things about her.  Her hands did the same, touching him with something that seemed like disbelief.  So much so that he stroked her cheek, drawing her attention to his face.  “Felicity?  What is it?”  

She bit her lower lip and smiled a little at him.  “I keep expecting to wake up.”  

“Me, too,” he told her, smiling back.  “Although I could pinch you to prove you’re not dreaming . . .”  He let his other hand slide down her back until he was cupping one cheek of her ass.  

Her eyes narrowed and she put on a mock-glare.  “Don’t you dare.”  

It was all he could do not to laugh at how adorably annoyed she looked.  “Nah,” he said, giving her ass a gentle squeeze.  “There’s other ways to prove you’re not dreaming.”  

Gently, Oliver drew Felicity down to kiss her.  And then, when he saw that her eyes were closed, just before he kissed her, he moved his hand from her ass and pinched her nipple.

Felicity’s eyes flew open as she gasped.  “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that!”  

Laughing even as she attacked him with her hands and her mouth, Oliver felt like a different person.  Like a new man.  One who could laugh and have fun while making love with the woman he was madly in love with.  

Although when Felicity wrapped her hand around his cock, pumping him firmly, all thoughts of laughter vanished from his mind.  Especially when she kissed him hungrily, taking his lower lip between her teeth and tugging on it.  

Now there wasn’t teasing and banter--just raw sexual energy and heat and passion.  So much passion.  

Oliver groaned and grunted, lost in the fire that Felicity was creating inside him.  Her hands worked his cock and balls, making him bite his already-abused lip to give himself something to focus on in the midst of the pleasure.  He did his best to keep up with her, playing with her breasts and rolling her nipples between his fingers, which brought forth a few moans from her, but she was utterly focused on him.  She swept him away, kept his mind a blissful blank with the power of her touch.

Until she lifted herself up, holding the head of his cock so close to her that he could feel her heat, and Oliver’s eyes popped open.  “Condom?” he gasped, staring up at her.  

Felicity hesitated, looking down at him.  “I--I just want you inside me,” she said, her voice full of aching tenderness and vulnerability.  Before he could come up with anything to say, she gave her head a shake and let go of him.  “No, that’s crazy--a crazy  _bad_  idea, because you have no idea if you can trust me and you could think this is all a trap.”  

Her request took him back to that first night.  When she had volunteered that she would give him a blow job without a condom.  Had it been a way for her to show him that she trusted him?  She had his medical records, yes, but he always thought it had meant more.  

Perhaps this was a sign of Felicity searching for intimacy.  A connection.  A desire which she had only been half-conscious of, then and now, sparking this request to have sex without any physical barriers.  

Just like they had discarded their emotional barriers.  

For once, Oliver felt like his mind was a match for Felicity’s, because these thoughts went through his brain in a flash.  And he knew exactly what to say.  

“I trust you.”

“Oliver?” she asked, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.  She sounded awestruck.  

Wrapping one hand around her hip, Oliver lifted up, his cock brushing against her folds and making him grit his teeth from the urge to just drive himself into her.  But he needed to say this first.  “I love you.  I trust you.”  

She blinked, staring at him.  “I love you, too.”  

And with that, Oliver slowly drew her down onto him.  Watching her face as he slid inside her, feeling his own eyes flutter shut at the absolute perfection of Felicity.  Just Felicity--nothing between them, nothing holding them back.  

They moaned in unison, not moving, his cock buried as deep as he could go.  It felt so good--he was so happy he had never had this experience with anyone else before--it was like a first time only so, so much better . . .

“Oliver.”  The breathy, emotional tone in Felicity’s voice made him open his eyes, to see the love of his life.  Smiling at him, completely naked and bare to him, and he knew that this was only the beginning for them.  

“Felicity,” he whispered, moving his hands up her back to hold her shoulders.  

“Oliver,” she repeated, resting her hands on his pecs and lifting off him.  Starting to ride him, slowly, her eyes never wavering from his.  Giving him all of her, making him feel greedy for always wanting more.  But he knew he would give her all of himself in return.  

Their bodies moved, each trying to increase the other’s pleasure.  Using their hands and mouths and their inner muscles to wring every feeling possible from this joining.  Oliver rocked his pelvis, burying himself a little bit deeper inside Felicity as she slid down, clenching around him.  His hands squeezed her breasts and she dug her nails into the muscles of his chest.  

Between the foreplay and the words they had spoken, Oliver knew he wouldn’t last.  Soon, he was grunting loudly, rocking his hips harder against Felicity, feeling his climax on the verge of breaking him apart.  And Felicity was close, too, with how hard she was breathing and how flushed her skin was.  

He needed her to come.  With fingers that skidded over her sweaty skin, Oliver dragged his hand down towards her center.  He worked his fingers between them, finding her clit.  

As soon as his fingers brushed past her folds, she gasped.  And when he actually touched her clit, Felicity groaned and started moving even faster.  “Oliver Oliver Oliver Oliver,” she repeated, nearly keening.

“I’ve got you,” he got out, barely having the breath to speak.  “Felicity . . .”  

Another rub of her clit and Felicity stiffened.  And then her body gave a jerk and she was shaking, her walls squeezing him so tightly and she was crying out his name, her head falling back as her climax swept over her.  

And she was so beautiful, so perfect, that Oliver didn’t have to do anything else to come.

He just watched her and he was climaxing.  Feeling all the love and pleasure and happiness that Felicity had created inside him, pouring out of himself and into her.  He never wanted to leave her--he wanted to live in this moment forever.  

Felicity pitched forward, slumping down on top of him as her orgasm slowly ended.  He felt the exhaustion waiting for him, but he held it back long enough to wrap his arms around Felicity and whisper, “I love you.”  

Just as his eyes fell shut, Oliver felt the soft brush of her lips against his cheek and then, right in his ear, her voice whispered, “I love you.”  

XXX

When he drifted awake, his eyes still shut, Oliver was aware of something soft and warm pressed against his mouth.  His eyelids flew open and he saw Felicity.  And he realized she was kissing him awake.  

Just like he was Sleeping Beauty, as she had always teased him.  

Smiling against her lips, Oliver tightened his grip on her and then returned her kiss.  She let out a happy little mewl, then nuzzled him.  “Mmmmm,” she murmured.  

“Finally waking me up with a kiss?” he asked, pecking her lips a few times.  “That’s good.”  

“Yeah,” she said, her voice a bit husky from sleep.  She brushed her hair back out of her face and smiled at him.  “I might not be able to stop myself from doing that.”  

Oliver quirked an eyebrow and repeated her words from earlier.  “Did I say anything about not liking it?”     

Felicity chuckled and curled up against him, her face resting in the crook between his neck and his shoulder.  Her hand lazily stroked his side and his chest, and Oliver ran his fingers through her hair and then grimaced slightly.  “You must have needed to use a can of hairspray to keep your hair so tightly pulled back,” he said, hating how stiff and crackly her hair was, instead of soft and shiny like normal.  

“It felt like it.  That was the worst part of the waitressing gig,” Felicity commented, pressing a light kiss against his skin.  “I’m glad it’s over.”   

And then she tensed slightly, like she was getting ready to take back her words, so Oliver reached out and lifted her face from his neck to look her in the eye.  “I’m glad, too,” he told her softly.  

A soft smile curved her lips, her eyes filled with warmth and happiness.  She delicately ran her thumb over his lower lip, then began tracing her fingers over his face, never looking away from him as she stroked the slope of his nose, followed the line of his jaw to his ear, and smoothed over his forehead.  

“What are you doing?” he asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Memorizing you,” Felicity replied, her voice just as quiet.  “I want to remember you in this moment forever.”  

He couldn’t help smiling at her.  Couldn’t help showing her how happy she was making him.  “I never would have pegged you for such a sap,” he said, loving being able to tease her, to make her smile and know that it was because of him.  Not because she felt like she had to laugh at his jokes--but because she thought he was funny.

At least, that was what he hoped.  

“I’m just trying to keep up with you,” Felicity responded, sliding her hand into his hair.  “Because tracking me down and putting everything on the line?  Very sappy, Oliver.”  She paused and smiled at him.  “And very, very brave.  You’re amazing.”  

His cheeks flushed and it was hard to not look away, hard not to demur and brush aside her compliment.  But instead, he held her gaze.  “It was easy to be brave when I knew the alternative was never seeing you again.”  

Felicity’s fingers tightened in his hair, and then she lifted her face and kissed him: tenderly, honestly, in a way that made him feel every particle of her love for him.  And he kissed her back in the same way.  

“Mmmmm,” she moaned against his lips before pulling away from him.  “C’mon.”  

“What?” he asked, blinking at her as she pushed herself up, kneeling beside him on the bed.  “Where are you going?”  He ran his eyes over her, feeling his mouth go dry when she lifted both hands and lifted her hair to give it a shake, the movement making her breasts shake, too, in the most hypnotic way ever.  His hands lifted towards her almost unconsciously.  

“Do you know something we’ve never done?” Felicity asked, evading his hands.  “We’ve never had shower sex.  I think it’s time to correct that oversight, don’t you?  And I need to get this hairspray washed out or I’m going to scream.”  

Being with a smart woman was amazing, Oliver thought to himself with a grin.  “And the last thing I want you screaming about is hairspray.”  

Felicity’s eyes flicked up and down his body, and then she gave him a look that was pure filth.  One that he had never seen before--one that was all Felicity.  “Then let’s see what you can do,” Felicity purred, before turning and walking towards the bathroom, her hips swinging and her ass bouncing.  

His cock actually stirred to life in reaction to her pure seduction.  And then he was scrambling out of bed, trying not to trip over his feet, as he followed her, his hands reaching out for her.  When he touched her, she looked over her shoulder at him and grinned.  

“You drive me crazy,” Oliver said, turning her around and drawing her in for a kiss.  When she wasn’t close enough, he lifted her off her feet and kept kissing her.  

“Feeling’s--mutual,” Felicity gasped against his lips, holding on to him tightly as he carried her the rest of the way into the bathroom.

Oliver didn’t let her go, keeping her in his arms as he started the shower and then stepped into the stall.  He kissed her one more time, deep and slow, and then let her slide down his body until she was standing on her own feet.  Then he leaned back against the tile wall and gestured towards the toiletries.  “Go ahead.”

She quirked an eyebrow, but smiled and turned to face him, letting the spray thoroughly wet her hair.  As she picked up one of the small bottles, pouring a healthy dollop of shampoo in her hands and rubbing them together, Oliver watched her, feeling his desire increase even as the intimacy of this moment wrapped around him.  

But then, seeing her wash her hair, watching the water streak over her body . . . Oliver found himself moving closer to her.  Bringing his hands up to cover her body, savoring how his fingers slipped over her wet skin.  And as soon as she was done rinsing away the shampoo, he drew her in towards him, her back against his front, and sank two fingers inside her.  

Felicity groaned loudly, her body rolling against his.  “Oliver . . .”  

Nipping lightly at her earlobe, Oliver moved his fingers in and out, feeling how she trembled in his arms.  “You’re so beautiful.  So warm.  I want to give you everything.”  

Her hands gripped the arm that was wrapped around her torso and her head leaned back against his shoulder.  Her eyes were closed, an expression of absolute bliss on her face.  He kissed and sucked on her jaw and neck as he kept stroking her, bringing his thumb to swirl around her clit.  

“Oh, God, Oliver--” Felicity cried out, her eyes squeezing shut.  

“I’ve got you,” he told her, sucking on her earlobe as he pressed firmly on her clit.  

When Felicity came, whispering his name, Oliver closed his eyes and held on to her tightly.  Needing a moment to remind himself that this was real.  It wasn’t a dream.  Felicity was in his arms and she wasn’t going anywhere.  

“Hey.”  

Her soft voice made him open his eyes--and realize he was probably holding on too tightly.  “Hey,” he said, loosening his grip on her.  

She turned around, pressing against him and wrapping her arms around his waist.  Looking up at him, Felicity smiled at him.  “Okay?  You’ve got deep thoughts face.  And as much as that look always makes me want to drop to my knees and make you stop  _thinking_  . . .”

He gave her a small smile.  “Rain check?  Because I like the sound of that.  Although I don’t know that they’re deep thoughts.  More . . . everything catching up with me.  It finally feels real.  Like, really real.”  Oliver frowned, wishing he had Felicity’s gift with words.  “That sounded less dumb in my head.”  

“It’s not dumb,” Felicity said, gently kneading his lower back.  “It’s honest.  I keep having the same feeling.  Realizing that you came for me.”  She squeezed her eyes shut.  “I mean, you went looking for me and you found me.” 

Unable to hold back his chuckle, Oliver lightly kissed her forehead.  Enjoying the way Felicity had loosened up, the way those babbles she had told him about were starting to slip out more and more.  “I did.  I found you.”  

“I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you earlier,” Felicity said, her hands gliding over his skin.  “That you were there because I had wished hard enough to make you appear out of thin air.”  

“I could have been here three days sooner,” Oliver admitted.  “But--but I was scared.”  

With soft eyes, she gazed up at him, the shower spray filling the silence.  “Scared of what?” she asked quietly, not looking away from him.

“Scared that you didn’t want me to follow you.  That . . . that you didn’t want me.”  Just saying the words made him want to tighten his arms around her, until she became part of him and he could have her strength and her support with him all the time.  

“I wanted you,” Felicity said with determination and certainty.  “Don’t ever doubt that, Oliver.”  She paused, and her voice grew softer.  “But I thought . . . I thought it wasn’t right for me to drag you into all this.  After everything you’ve gone through, I didn’t want to wreck the progress you’ve made.”

Nodding, he let his fingers lightly trail up and down her back, along the line of her spine.  “I had a lot of doubts about whether I was doing the right thing.  But I just needed to know you were okay.”  

“If it was anyone else saying that, I wouldn’t believe them.  But you . . . you’ve always treated me like a woman.  Like me, Felicity, not some fantasy woman that you could do whatever you wanted to,” she explained, moving even closer to him.  

His breath caught in his throat.  Hearing Felicity talk about him, having her compliment and praise him like this . . . it felt like his soul was being restored.  Soothing away all his worries and doubts and leaving just happiness and love.  

He brushed his nose against hers.  “You ready to get out of the shower?”  

Felicity smiled at him.  “Mmm, yes.  Not done with you yet, though.”  

“That goes double for me,” he replied with a smile, leaning in to kiss her as he reached behind her to turn off the shower.

XXX

They made love, several more times.  They slept.  They ordered room service, Oliver overriding Felicity’s request for a salad and getting her a steak, too--but making sure she had a side salad and steamed broccoli instead of creamed spinach and a baked potato with all the trimmings.  

Best of all, they talked.  Felicity told him about MIT and her mother, about the places she had traveled and where else she wanted to go.  Oliver talked about Queen Consolidated and Thea, about his bad hair years and his daily workouts.  

And as the sun began setting at the end of their first day together, Felicity opened up about one of her biggest hurts: how her father had abandoned herself and her mother.  Her courage made Oliver finally share what had happened to end his days as Ollie Queen: the car accident that killed his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Laurel Lance.  An accident she would have never been involved in, if it hadn’t been for him.  

Instead of trying to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, like so many people had done, Felicity just listened.  Let him talk, let him say whatever he was feeling and thinking.  And then, she had pushed him down on the bed and covered his body with hers.  Holding him, touching him, kissing him.  Making him feel like he was wrapped  up in a blanket of her love.  

Now, it was the middle of the night and Oliver was feeling peaceful and sleepy and content.  Felicity was caught up in her own dreams, curled up against him, and he knew in a short while he would be joining her in sleep.  

But first . . . he just wanted to think.  To realize how far he had come and how far he had to go.  None of this would have happened if Tommy hadn’t reached out to him, convincing him to try to save himself.  If Thea hadn’t encouraged him to open up to someone, even when things got tough.  If Felicity hadn’t been the amazing, talented, caring woman she was.  

Oliver knew how lucky he was.  He didn’t want to ever forget that.  And he didn’t want to stop working on himself.  There was still room for him to improve.  Just because he had Felicity didn’t mean he was done or finished learning and growing.  

“I can feel you thinking.”  

Felicity’s drowsy voice made him look down at her with a smile.  “Oh, you can?”  

Nodding, she lifted her head from his chest and squinted slightly at him in the low light.  “You’re all tense.  And not the good kind.”  

“Sorry,” he said, brushing a kiss over her forehead.  “Just . . . reflecting.”  

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she said, shifting up to kiss him softly.  “But if you need to talk, I’m here.  Always, no matter what.”  

With a small smile, he nodded.  “I know.”  And that was the thing--he did know.  He knew, in his bones, that Felicity would always listen.  Just like he would always listen when she needed him.  

Finding this connection with Felicity, building this relationship . . . he hadn’t planned for it.  Hadn’t even realized he needed it.  But now he couldn’t imagine his life without her.  And this was just the beginning.  Because there was still so much to do.  There was getting the Feds to drop their block on Felicity’s real career.  There was introducing her to his family, and hopefully he would get to meet hers, too.  And there was all the normal relationship milestones and hurdles to meet and face.  

Yet no matter how long the odds were, he wanted this.  With her.  

Reaching out, he tucked some hair behind her ear.  He wished there was a simple way to tell her all this.  To explain how excited he was about the future ahead of them.  And then he realized there was.  

“I love you.”  

Her smile was soft and natural and happy.  Full of warmth and love.  “I love you, too.”  She kissed him again, slower than before, her lips lingering against his.  “Now,” she said softly, “since we’re both awake now . . . I think there’s something more fun to do than brood.”  

“I was not brooding.  I was reflecting,” Oliver protested, no heat in his words.  He rolled them over, pressing her down against the mattress gently.  

Felicity’s eyebrow arched.  “Oh, yeah?”  

“Yeah,” he said, rolling his hips slowly against her.  Loving how she smiled at him, loving how her eyes sparkled up at him, loving how her hands stroked his back and then drifted down to squeeze his ass.  

He had never felt this strong, this safe, this whole.  He wanted to keep feeling like this for as long as he could.  And he knew that when he was with her, it was easier to be this man.  To be Oliver.  

And just like that, his whole world narrowed down to just Felicity.  To making her happy, to helping her discover this same feeling.  

That was the kind of man he wanted to be: the one who was strong enough and happy enough to make Felicity happy.  

Oliver Queen was twenty-eight years old.  He was happy and in love.  And he was finally the man he was meant to be.  

End.


End file.
